Night
by Katt9966
Summary: Prequal to my story Dawn-VERY DARK, violence and non-con (ocassionally graphic descriptions used.)
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX (lucky devils).

Night.

The car drove slowly along the quiet, dark street. It was 3a.m. and the area was deserted, the driver smiled to himself, no witnesses. He knew exactly where he wanted to go, which house he wanted to park by, after all he had been here many times before in the preceding months. He stopped and slowly reversed his car back into the small alleyway that ran next to the house, coming to a stop next to the high back gate. The man switched off the engine and pulled a large black holdall off the front seat as he got out of the car. The gate opened noiselessly its bolt having been broken for a while now; he liked to prepare the groundwork thoroughly. The householder had been busy with work lately and although he'd meant to buy a new one and fix it he hadn't seemed to find the time. Once inside the garden the intruder stood for a moment relishing the night. There was no moon and so the only light came from the faint twinkling of the stars far above in the heavens. He felt a shudder of anticipation run through his body, at last the moment he had been waiting for, planning for, dreaming of was here at last. He had come to collect what was his.

Reaching up with one gloved hand to the lintel of the back door he quickly found the spare key that had been hidden there. He never failed to be surprised and faintly amused that the very people who saw society at its worst, saw burglary, violence and even murder everyday while they worked could be so lax when it came to their own security. However, he always interpreted it as a sign, an omen that this was meant to be, that the special ones he chose were indeed meant for him. Sometimes he even wondered if deep down they knew this themselves, somewhere in their sub-conscious they knew their fate was sealed.

Using the key he silently let himself into the dark house. The lack of light was no problem for him, his eyes had adjusted to the low light levels and he knew the layout of this house as well as his own. He'd spent many nights here while the owner was away at work on the night shift. He had let himself in and absorbed all he could about his choosen's life. He'd drunk from his cups, sat in his chairs, watched his television, read his letters and looked through his photo albums. He felt he'd already shared so much of the choosen's life and past that it was only right that he should control what would happen in their relationship in the future, and even how and when it would end.

Moving through the kitchen he entered the hall and was quickly at the bottom of the stairs. He paused for a moment, holding his breath and listening intently to the sounds of the sleeping house, all was quiet. Carefully he moved forward and began to climb the stairs, knowing of course that the third and fifth stairs both creaked, yes he did like to prepare the groundwork well. Upon reaching the landing he turned left and came to the master bedroom. He could feel the excitement building in him, his heart beating quickly, his blood feeling like it was singing in his veins. The anticipation at this moment was always so sweet that he paused for longer than necessary to savour it. As he pushed the door noiselessly open he could feel his penis hardening, the excitement almost unbearable, uncontrollable. Pausing again to gather himself he could hear the soft breathing of his quarry, he carefully put down his holdall and reached into his pocket taking out a small bottle and a cloth. The contents of the bottle were poured into the cloth, and pausing only to place the now empty bottle on the floor, he moved forward.

There was his prey at last, asleep on the left of the large double bed, even in slumber he never strayed over to the other side. That must be the side where that bitch of a wife had slept, he shouldn't really curse her after all if she hadn't left he wouldn't be here now. He only chose those who were alone, those who needed him to bring their lives direction and purpose. So he thought of Lucy, her smiling face in the wedding pictures which had probably once hung on the walls but now were hidden away in a shoe box at the bottom of the closet in the spare bedroom, he thought of her with a smile and a small nod of thanks. Looking down again he studied the sleeping man before him. He slept on his front; his left hand resting by his face while his right hand was flung out to his side. It was a warm night and the comforter had been pushed down to the foot of the bed. Even the cotton sheet had ended up bunched up around the sleeper's ankles. Not that he minded that, it just gave him the perfect view of the body in front of him. His gaze traveled up the body, along the long slim legs to the narrow hips and tight ass, on up across the back to where the shoulders widened. The warm weather had meant that only a tee shirt and boxer shorts covered that delicious body from his view, the warm skin from his touch. " Soon" he promised himself and the sleeping man in front of him. Looking up he studied the sleeping face before him. It was perfectly relaxed in slumber and looked younger with a hint of innocence that was delightful. Dark hair tumbled forward onto the sleeper's forehead and the intruder had to resist the urge to brush it back. Equally dark eyelashes lay on the slightly flushed cheeks of his face, and his mouth was slightly open as he breathed slowly in deep sleep. Focusing he prepared himself for the struggle about to occur. This one was tall and although not hugely muscled he didn't doubt that he would fight fiercely. Well he had a good couple of inches advantage in height over the prone man and he had been preparing and training for this, making sure that his muscular physic was in top shape. Gathering himself he made his move.

Swiftly he firmly planted his right knee in the middle of his prey's lower back while reaching over with his right hand to restrain the other man's right arm. Simultaneously the cloth was pressed over the prone man's mouth and nose. Startled from sleep the man tried desperately to throw his attacker off. He tried to shout but the cloth acted as an effective gag muffling his efforts. His left arm was unrestrained and he searched with increasing terror for a weapon to use against his assailant. He tried to reach the table lamp on the bedside cabinet but in his panic only succeeded in knocking it onto the floor. He felt a sharp pain in his hand but the urge to survive made him dismiss it. He could feel his strength failing him, his head beginning to spin. He braced his left hand against the wall by the head of his bed and pushed back trying again to dislodge his attacker. The intruder had hung on throughout all the desperate struggling of the body beneath him, he knew it wouldn't last long and indeed he could feel the chloroform which was on the cloth beginning to work. The man under him was weakening, his strength rapidly draining away. Finally after a last shudder the struggling man fell silent and still.

With a sigh of relief the intruder let himself relax, the hardest and riskiest part was over. He looked down at the luminous face of his watch, it read 3:40 time to move things along. He went over to the door of the room and flicked on the light. He moved forward, squinting slightly as his eyes struggled to cope with the sudden bright light. Reaching down into his holdall he removed a bundle of about 100 photos, all A4 sized and black and white. He carefully scattered them over the foot of the bed, on top of the comforter. Then he turned his attention back towards his prize. He was surprised when he saw blood. There was dark red blood on the sheet and pillowcase, and a bloody handprint that stood out starkly on the wall at the head of the bed. Concerned he moved forward to inspect the unconscious man who was draped across the bed. He relaxed when he saw the blood came from a slash across the other's hand; it was only then that he noticed the glass which had been smashed in the frightened man's struggle when he had been trying to reach the lamp. The damage didn't look to bad but anyway he didn't have time to see to it now. Moving back to his holdall he took out a black bundle which when rolled out onto the floor proved to be a body bag, such as was used by coroners. Leaving this he went quickly to the wardrobe and removed several items, placing them in the now empty holdall, he repeated this exercise with things taken from various drawers. Satisfied he went back to his quarry on the bed; he would have liked to spend some time inspecting his merchandise but knew time was passing. He comforted himself with the thought that it would be better to take his time unwrapping this particular package, and besides it would be much less fun with the other man unconscious. So he quickly pulled him from the bed and into the body bag, the holdall was also placed inside by the man's feet. One last task to perform before he left. The throbbing in his erect penis was becoming uncomfortable and he needed relief. Standing by the foot of the bed he unzipped his trousers and reached in to free himself. He began to stroke himself while he regarded his handiwork. The signs of a struggle were evident in the room, and he hardened even more as he remembered feeling the other man's body squirming under him. He remembered the short, quick, panicked breaths he'd taken; unknowingly quickening the effects of the chloroform. The intruder moaned in pleasure as he remembered that the whole room had reeked with fear, the terror had been almost palpable. His hand moved faster and harder, he could feel his completion nearing. He turned his eyes to the blood, it was spattered over the bedding, but it was the handprint which claimed his attention. He suddenly closed his eyes, threw his head back and groaned as he came long and hard. Gathering himself he tucked his softening penis away and looked at his DNA calling card left over the scattered photos on the bed. Smiling to himself he went over to the body bag and carefully zipped it up. Then he hoisted it over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, with one last look at the room he turned, switched off the light and made his way downstairs.

Before leaving the house he went to the front door and unlocked it, just to make things go smoother tomorrow he thought. Moving swiftly he went out the back door leaving this also unlocked and went to his car, he opened the trunk and deposited his precious cargo safely inside. Getting into the car he started the engine and moved forward out onto the street. Seeing that all was silent he smiled, good still no witnesses. The car pulled away and was soon lost from view as it moved into the night. 


	2. NightChapter 2

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield (but if you let me borrow Dutch I promise not to break him), they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Night – Chapter 2

Claudette sat at her desk with a sigh and took a sip of her coffee. First things first she wanted to go through her mail. The amount of rubbish which ended up in her pigeonhole never failed to amaze her. She glanced over to her left and frowned slightly, then when she'd glanced down at her watch the frown deepened. It was 7:10 a.m. and her partner Dutch Wagenbach was 10 minutes late for work, and with the exception of his first day when he'd been a spectacular 2 hours late, Dutch was never late, in fact he usually arrived before her. She shook her head slightly irritated with herself for being such a worrier, after all Dutch was a grown man and perfectly able to look after himself. He had probably over-slept or had car problems, god who was she his mother or something. She returned her attention to her post. It all looked pretty routine until she spotted a padded envelope near to the bottom of the pile. Picking it up she saw "Detective Wyms" hand written on the outside. It carried no stamp or address so it must have been hand delivered, curious she ripped the top off and tipped the envelope's contents out onto her desktop. What she saw made her heart falter in her chest. She gasped and suddenly the background chatter of the squad room seemed to disappear as her whole existence narrowed down to the piece of metal and single piece of paper on her desk. For a moment her head spun and she could feel the blood drain from her face. She knew what this was and she was terrified. Pushing the contents back into the envelope with a pencil so as not to contaminate any evidence she rushed to the stairs and for Acevada's office.

David Aceveda had just settled down to begin reviewing last months crime figures for the Farmington district when his door was flung open and a very harassed looking Claudette Wyms hurried in unannounced. In her hand she clutched a brown padded envelope the contents of which she tipped onto his desk,

"This was in my pigeonhole this morning, Dutch isn't in, something's wrong," She gasped.

Aceveda looked down at the contents of the envelope, a detective's badge and a piece of paper that had the words "number six" written on it. Just as Claudette had known he to knew instantly what this meant, what it meant for Dutch, and for them. There wasn't a policeman in the country who wouldn't have recognised what this was, it was the calling card of The Stalker. His eyes met Claudette's and he sucked in his breath sharply at the fear, pain and growing panic he saw there.

"I need to get over to his place now," She stated firmly, not waiting for an answer she began to move quickly to the door of his office. 

"Wait," he commanded "you need back up. Get Mackey and the strike team, I'll put in a call to personnel and get Dutch's home address."

"No need he lives at 1310 Hoover Street. I'm going now," with which she disappeared from view.

Pausing only to glance at the badge on his desk Aceveda quickly put a call through to the Westwood division to request some uniformed back up at Dutch's house, and then through to the CSI squad to request a team to pick up the envelope and its contents from his office. Finally he put a call through to the chief knowing he had to be informed and to request that the FBI be brought in immediately. Finished with this he got up and went to his office window and looked down to the squad room below, down to two empty desks.

"God," he thought, "this is so bad and it's only going to worse."

Claudette was in her car driving towards Dutch's house. She knew that the strike team were right behind her, as they had been since she'd burst into The Clubroom and told them that she needed backup, that Dutch had been taken by The Stalker. They had paused for a moment in shock before bursting into action.

"Fuck," Shane muttered, reaching for his jacket.

"You got an address," asked Mackey. His eyes registering his own shock, but Claudette had been relieved to see his professional mask slipping into place. 

"1310 Hoover St," she told them already moving with them out into the carpark.

"Right," Mackey acknowledged, "you lead the way and we'll be right behind."

Looking in her mirror she could see them there. Mackey could be a bastard but there were few people better that she'd rather have covering her back. Well there was only one she would have preferred, at this thought her hands gripped the steering wheel tighter and her mouth thinned into a grim line.

The journey to Dutch's house seemed to have passed in a blur and suddenly Claudette found herself pulling up in front of his drive. A black and white from Westwood was already there and two uniformed officers came forward to greet her. As she moved forward she could hear the strike team's SUV pulling in behind her car with a screech of tires, the doors slamming as the strike team jumped out. Pausing she looked at the house in front of her, the front lawn and small hedge were neatly trimmed and the lemon and white paintwork on its walls was immaculate. She could see that the blinds at the front windows, both upstairs and downstairs, were still drawn. Everything looked neat and quiet and she had to suppress a shiver that ran up her spine. Mackey turned to her,

"How do you want to do this," he asked. Claudette was slightly surprised but relived that he understood that this was her partner and so her operation.

"Two of your guys go around the back with a uniform and try to gain access that way, and the rest of us go in through the front door," she instructed him.

Nodding he sent Lem, Ronnie and one of the uniforms down the alley beside Dutch's house. Letting Claudette lead the way he followed her to the front door with Shane and the other uniform, all of them drawing their weapons and trying to prepare themselves for what might await them in the house.

They took up position by the front door, her and Vic Mackey on one side while Shane and the uniform stood on the other. They paused for a minute to allow the others to get into position at the back of the house. That minute seemed to stretch out like an eternity for Claudette, her entire body seeming to quiver with tension, and her hand sweating onto the grip of her gun. She wanted to wipe her hand on her trouser leg, more than that she wanted to be somewhere else. She wanted to be in the squad room listening to Dutch talking about profiling an unsub, about what tendencies were suggested by the evidence found at their latest crime scene. Not here about to find that her partner's house, Dutch's house, was about to be that crime scene.

"Don't go there," she warned herself, focus on the here and now, distractions led to mistakes and this was not a situation where you wanted to make any mistakes. Your life and that of your colleagues depended on everyone having cool, professional heads on their shoulders. Taking a deep breath she turned to Vic, who nodded and she reached out to the doorknob. To her surprise it turned easily and she noiselessly pushed the front door open.

They stepped inside, alert for any sound any movement from within the quiet, still house. Claudette had to resist the urge to shout out Dutch's name, that little grain of panic that had taken seed in her chest since she had first seen the contents of that envelope had to be quickly suppressed. They stepped forward, their movements smooth and practiced, turning to the left they checked out the living room, but everything there was undisturbed and perfectly normal. A slight sound from the direction of the kitchen grabbed their attention and as one the four police officers swung their weapons towards the sound, their bodies tight with tension. Again as one they relaxed slightly when they saw it was only the other group who had gone to the back of the house. Evidently their entrance into the quiet house had been equally uneventful. Vic signaled to Lem and Ronnie to stay in the hallway covering their backs and to the two uniforms to go out and secure the perimeter. Then Claudette, Shane and Vic began to climb the stairs.

They froze as one when only a couple of steps up the stair creaked, to their ears it seemed deafening, but still nothing stirred. When it happened again they kept moving upward while keeping a wary look out for trouble. Finally at the top of the staircase they checked the landing was clear and took up position at the first door. Claudette pushed the door open to find an undisturbed, neat guestroom, turning to the door next to it she found herself looking into an equally undisturbed bathroom. Moving further down towards the front of the house they found a home office complete with desk, computer and book shelves filled with files and books on forensic psychology and FBI profiling techniques if the titles Claudette could see were anything to go by. Nothing here had been touched either by the looks of things, it was typically Dutch, everything neat and in its place, Claudette smiled sadly and turned to face the last door. Guns raised they moved forward and at a nod from Claudette entered the master bedroom.

It was so much worse than Claudette had imagined her gun lowered to point to the floor and she felt as though her heart had faltered in her chest.

"Shit," murmured Shane next to her.

Mackey seemed to recover first,

"Shane get downstairs and contact Aceveda, tell him what's gone down here and get him to send the crime scene boys over here now. Tell him we need more uniforms to secure the scene and start house to house." He ordered.

"Yeah, sure boss," Shane replied before hurrying out of the room, glad to be getting away from the scene.

Vic moved slowly forward, careful not to disturb anything, stepping over a small bottle that had been discarded on the floor. He paused to look down at it but it was empty. 

Claudette hadn't moved, she wasn't sure if she could. It was obvious that a struggle had taken place here. The bedside lamp was broken on the floor, a glass broken on the cabinet. Finally her feet moved her forward. There was something at the foot of the bed, Vic was looking down at it. He had frowned and leaned forward before wrinkling his nose and jerking back,

"Fuck," he exclaimed. 

He turned to Claudette as she to looked down at the bed, there were black and white photographs strewn all over the foot of the double bed. They were all photos of Dutch. Pictures of him shopping, walking in a park, at a crime scene, entering the station house at Farmington with her and they were both laughing. If that wasn't disturbing enough there were other photos to. Photos of Dutch asleep in this very bed, taking a bath, watching the television downstairs, drinking a cup of coffee in his kitchen,

"Jesus," she murmured, looking upward, "the bastard's got cameras planted in here."

"Yeah, and that's not all he's planted," Vic said, looking back at the photos.

When she looked back she notice the drying semen that had been ejaculated across the pictures. She felt her stomach roll and thought for a moment she was going to throw up. Looking away she saw the blood which was spattered across the crisp white sheets, and finally the bloody handprint on the pale lemon wall, she groaned and turned away, head bowed.

Concerned Vic moved to her side and gently touched her arm. 

"Jesus this is real isn't it," she asked him. "We have to get him back, I have to get him back."

"We will," Vic reassured her. He looked into her pain filled eyes and promised her, "we'll get him back and make this fucking bastard pay."

In the distance they could both hear the wail of approaching sirens.


	3. NightChapter 3

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Night- Chapter 3

Something was very wrong, his head felt all fuzzy like it was stuffed with cotton wool, and he hurt. His arms and shoulders were really painful and there was an uncomfortable throbbing in his left hand. He needed to wake up; he needed to open his eyes. He heard a noise in the distance, a moaning sound, and he was surprised when he realized the noise was coming from him. With what felt like a supreme effort he slowly dragged his eyes open, and started when he realized he still couldn't see. There was something over his eyes, a cloth, a blindfold. Reality came crashing into his mind like a freight train. He'd been blindfolded and his upper body hurt so much because his arms had been drawn up above his head and tied with rope, which he could feel cutting into his wrists. He tried to get his feet under him properly to take the weight of his body which was being taken fully by his arms and shoulders, no wonder they felt like they were being ripped out of their sockets. It was then that he discovered that his feet were also tied with rope. It wound around his ankles and was used to somehow anchor him to the floor. With the pressure on his upper body relieved, and after the initial burn in his now relaxing arm muscles had subsided he tried to calm himself to take stock of his situation. 

The fuzzy feeling in his brain was dissipating rapidly and memories came rushing forward to fill the gap. He'd been at home asleep when he'd been attacked. He could remember a huge weight on his back; being held down and the sensation of suffocation as something had been forced over his nose and mouth. He realized that there had been something on the cloth, it had had a sweet, cloying smell, overpowering and sickly. God he was in so much trouble, panic began to rise inside his chest. He could feel himself on the verge of hyperventilating as he remembered something else from his attack, while he had been held down on his bed he had felt his attacker's erection pressing into his lower back. Questions whirled at a hundred miles an hour through his head, why was he here, what was his kidnapper's agenda?

A noise in front of him, a shuffling sound, someone else was here watching him. Dutch took a steadying breath trying to calm himself down, now was not the time to fall apart no matter how much he wanted to. He quickly assessed his situation, he'd been kidnapped and was being held against his will, experience had taught him that these situations rarely had a good outcome for the victim. He also knew that his disappearance would be noticed, as soon as he didn't show up for work in the morning Claudette would realize that something was up. Then the search for him would begin, but he knew that it would take time to find him, and he also knew that time might not be a luxury he had. Events would take place now according to his abductor's timetable and the only thing he could do was try to buy himself time. He knew from his extensive reading that many kidnappers regarded their victims as mere objects, there for their satisfaction. This disassociation made it much easier for the victim to be murdered; they were not seen as real people and so were totally expendable. The most important thing in a situation like this was to become a real person to your kidnapper, try to build a rapport with them. He had read that it was important to engage them in conversation if possible, to tell them about yourself and your life, in a sense to make yourself 3-dimentional to them. There was the noise again closer this time, definitely in front of him. 

"Who's there, what do you want?" Dutch asked, annoyed that his voice faltered betraying his fear. There was no reply and Dutch felt himself reaching out with all of his senses to try to locate the other person. He held his breath straining to hear above the fierce beating of his heart that seemed to thunder in his ears. Nothing,

"Look I know there's someone here, so why don't we talk about this, try to sort things out before they get out of hand." Pausing he waited for a reply but heard nothing. He couldn't shake the feeling, which was getting stronger, that he was being watched. 

"My name's Dutch Wagenbach, and I think you should know I'm a cop, and you're going to be in a whole world of trouble if anything happens to me. Now the best thing you could do is to untie me and get out of here, we don't want this situation getting out of hand for either of us. You know I've not seen your face so you can get clean away and be a hundred miles from here in a couple of hours." Dutch knew he was taking a risk telling his abductor that he was a cop, but he reckoned that if the kidnapper didn't know this already it might just spook him into taking his advice and letting him go. As the silence stretched on he guessed that plan A was a dismal failure. Time to try and come up with a plan B, but before he had a chance he felt a movement in front of him, really close, it was as if he could feel the air directly in front of him shifting as a body moved in the space. He started back, a cry of surprise bursting from his mouth when a hand touched him on the chest. It didn't move, just rested lightly against his tee shirt above his heart. Dutch felt as if the hand was burning him, it's heat going straight through the thin material and scorching the skin underneath. That flash of memory came unbidden to his mind again, of him being held down on his bed, suffocating and feeling the hard erection of his attacker pressing into him. There were other memories, old memories that he'd buried deeply long ago, he'd locked them away in the dark but they were trying to break free now. It took a huge effort to turn his mind away from them and concentrate on the here and now, that was a road he was determined not to take no matter what, because he wasn't sure he'd stay sane if he did.

"P…p..please," he stuttered, and then words failed him as the hand on his chest began to move slowly downwards, stopping at the hem of his tee shirt. Dutch held his breath as the moment stretched on interminably, and then he felt flesh touching his flesh as the stranger's fingers ghosted over his stomach just above the waistband of his boxer shorts. Dutch wanted to scream at this pervert to fuck off and leave him alone, he wanted to struggle against his bonds, Christ he wanted to just grab the panic he could feel welling up inside him and go with it. Calm, calm he had to be calm, not let this escalate out of control, he could still turn this around if he could just clear his head and be calm.

"Stop…um..you need to stop now, and lets talk about this, we need to talk about what's happening here." Jesus the hand just kept on moving. Upwards now the hand pressed flat, the fingers brushing against his nipple, the fingers stroking the nub of flesh until it began to harden. Dutch could feel a scream building up in his throat and he began to move, trying to arch out of the intrusive touch but he found that his bonds meant no escape. The intrusive touch paused only momentarily and then it was moving again around his side to his back, burning his skin like acid. Dutch was convinced that if he could see where the hand had been he would see a physical mark on his skin as it dirtied his flesh, corrupting everything in its path. The fingers lightly stroked there way down his back until they again touched the waistband of his boxer's. Slowly the very tips of the fingers were slipped under the material. Dutch couldn't stop the whimper from escaping from his mouth; his mind was whirling, panic-stricken. The adrenaline which was coursing through his body was heightening his fear, he could hear his heart pounding in his chest it was beating so hard it felt as if it would explode at any moment. Then his breath caught in his throat as another hand slipped into his hair and grasped hold of it, and a body large and heavy pushed itself against his front. The grip in his hair tightened painfully as he instinctively tried to pull away, he felt a soft, warm breath ghost over his cheek and then tickle his ear as his abductor lent forwards and whispered, 

"Ssshhh", as if he were soothing a frightened child.

Dutch bit down on his lower lip to stifle the sounds of terror that seemed to be escaping from his mouth of their own accord. Gone was the plan of setting up a dialogue with his kidnapper his brain was buzzing at a million miles an hour and yet failing to function properly, failing him when he needed it most, he'd always relied on his intellect and now it was gone. He doubted he could speak even if he could form a coherent sentence as his mouth had gone dry with fear. Dutch could taste his own blood on his lips as his teeth broke the skin, he started back as far as the hand gripping his hair would allow as he felt his attacker's tongue flick over his mouth, tasting his blood. The fingers at his back began to slowly move again, circumnavigating his waist and coming to rest directly under his navel.

"No, no, no,no….p..please stop..please don't do this," Dutch pleaded, his voice almost failing him. He could feel his body beginning to tremble and a bead of cold sweat ran down from his forehead, across his temple and into his hair. He began to chant in his mind,

"This isn't happening, this isn't happening, thisisn'thappeningthisisn'thappening," the words blurring together, getting faster, more desperate. "God please don't let this happen."

The disgusting touch only paused for a moment and then continued in its violation. When it came to rest on his genitals, cupping them possessively Dutch couldn't hold himself together any more. His mind completely shut down and animal instinct took over, overwhelming terror took over. He bucked and writhed try to get away from the burning touch, not feeling the ropes which were now cutting into the soft skin at his wrists and ankles. His breath was coming in panicked gasps and pants as he fought to escape.

"Don't touch me, don't touch me you fucking bastard! Get your filthy hands off me!" the words exploded out of his mouth, the adrenaline which was flooding his system provoking the fight response as well as the flight response. The tears that were beginning to soak into the fabric of his blindfold were partly tears of fear and partly tears of anger. 

The hand in his boxers unexpectantly withdrew. Relief flooded through Dutch's body, it was going to be OK this sicko was just fucking with his head trying to freak him out, well he'd succeeded Dutch was well and truly freaked. Dutch knew he had to calm down get a handle on his emotions that were all over the place at the moment. His respite was short lived however as the hand that still held his hair tightened again and pulled his head back exposing his throat. He felt a point of cold metal press against his throat, a knife at his throat. Dutch's whole existence seemed to telescope down and focus on that one small, sharp point. He didn't dare move, he didn't dare swallow knowing that with only a slight increase of pressure the knife would break his skin. However, it was not his skin that his abductor was interested in breaking just now. Dutch felt the knife moving downwards, the tip scratching the skin in his neck, but not quite enough to cut although the unspoken threat was clear. It caught in the material at the neck of his tee shirt slicing it all the way open in one smooth motion. Two similar motions at each of his shoulders slicing through the arms of his shirt and he felt the torn material slip away from his body. Dutch shivered the cold air caressing his skin making it blossom with goose flesh. He swallowed hard and felt himself beginning to withdraw into himself as the blade began to rip through the material of his boxer shorts. Dutch felt his mind reaching out within itself to find his safe place; the place buried deep where he'd be safe. It was a skill he'd learnt many years ago, when there had been a need to disassociate himself from his body sometimes. However, it was a skill he hadn't needed for many years and he found that the practiced ease he'd once had to achieve his isolation had deserted him. He was very much trapped in the present.

He was standing naked now in the freezing air. His attacker had moved away, letting go of his hair no longer touching him physically, but Dutch could feel the other man's gaze on him, on his body. He could feel the heat rising under his skin, and could feel the blush of embarrassment, humiliation washing over him. Then the other man was gone; Dutch could sense his withdrawal from the room as much as the slight noises he had made as he'd left had singled it. Now that he was alone Dutch felt as if all of his strength had left him, the adrenaline which had been coursing through him gradually subsided leaving him exhausted and on edge. 

God what was he going to do, this guy was obviously a maniac he had to get out of here soon or things were going to get so much worse and he wasn't sure he'd survive that. Claudette would find him, he tried to reassure himself, yes she'd find him in time and he'd be fine. She would save him, rescue him and take him home. He just had to hold onto that, believe in that and hold on until she got here. Dutch just prayed it would be soon.


	4. NightChapter 4

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Night -Chapter 4.

Simon smiled to himself, he knew he'd been right to wait until Holland was awake before touching him, undressing him, after all his reactions had been delicious. It had been difficult waiting for him to come around from the chloroform after he'd been restrained, all that pale flesh just waiting to be touched, stroked, claimed. However, Simon was nothing if not a patient man, he had to be all the time he had to spend in preparation when he'd found his next plaything. Time he spent selecting just the perfect one for his needs, time spent watching them, photographing them, studying them, getting to know their lives. He felt that all this would help him to get closer to them, and Simon wanted to be close to them not only for himself, but for them to. They might not realize it, might not want to admit it but Simon knew they wanted him, deep down they all craved his touch, his attention. This one as much as the others and Simon would help Holland recognise what he really wanted, what he really needed.

Simon sat down and relaxed watching the naked, bound and blindfolded man on the monitor. He was trying to get his hands free, twisting his wrists one way and then another, it was hopeless all he'd do was hurt himself, make his wrists bleed. Simon briefly considered going in and commanding him to stop, but then he thought that it would be better for Holland to learn this lesson for himself, and besides he found it rather amusing watching his futile struggles to escape his fate. Simon turned his thoughts to the events of the past hour, savouring every moment in his mind. He had been so patient waiting for Holland to awaken, he'd stood perfectly still watching the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, instantly detecting the subtle changes which alerted him to Holland's return to consciousness. As he'd watched him gaining his feet, and so relieving the strain his arms and shoulders had been under supporting his body, Simon had thrilled at the little moans of pain that Holland had made. He'd watched as Holland's mind had cleared of the fog left there by the chloroform and he'd begun to assess his situation. Although he hadn't been able to see his eyes because of the blindfold the little tightening of his mouth had signaled the growing fear that he'd felt. How Simon had wished he could take the blindfold off of those expressive eyes, eyes that really were the windows of the soul with every nuance of mood always there to be read, but he also knew that depriving Holland of his sight for the moment would make him feel more powerless and engender more fear in him. Simon had moved making a slight noise and had watched with glee as Holland's head had snapped up immediately trying to identify the source of the sound. He'd watched his face and knew that his brain was going up a gear trying to think his way out of the situation, how typical of him relying on his intelligence. Well all his knowledge of criminalistics and psychology wasn't going to help him now, because Simon was sure that was the route Holland would take to try to escape; after all Simon had seen all the books in his house, he'd even flicked through a few when he'd spent time in the house while Holland had been at work. Then he'd asked the same two questions they always asked first, it was strange but without fail it was always "who's there" and of course "what do you want", slightly different wording and sometimes accompanied by profanity, but it always boiled down to those two questions. The tremor in his voice betraying his fear had been delightful, Simon just knew that Holland was going to be the best one yet, and the seven days they would spend together would be so special for them both. Then Holland had introduced himself; of course he'd used that awful nickname instead of his given name. Simon would never call him Dutch, no to him it would always be Holland it would be special between them. Holland had even tried bargaining with him, trying to get Simon to release him behaving as if the police would be here any minute to rescue him so he'd better let him go and run away if he knew what was good for him. Holland certainly had faith in his colleagues, he didn't realize yet that Simon was infinitely more intelligent than they were. He'd come to see it over time when no rescue was forthcoming, they always did some lasting longer than others, holding onto hope longer than others, but they always acknowledged it in the end, they always broke in the end. Wanting to silence him Simon had quickly moved forward and placed his hand on Holland's chest. He'd started back crying out softly, Simon had felt Holland's heart through his contact, it had been beating so hard, so fast under his hand as if it was about to burst out of his chest. Simon could almost taste Holland's fear, his mouth watering at the mere thought of it.

Simon knew he couldn't wait any longer he had to touch and caress the trembling body in front of him, he had to stroke the warm flesh. Holland's voice had faltered as he'd stuttered over the single word "please". Then at last Simon had run his fingers over Holland's stomach, enjoying the feeling of the muscles under his fingertips flinching away from his touch. What little colour left in Holland's face had rapidly drained out at that point. He'd listened to Holland trying to talk his way out, he'd watched as Holland had tried to master his fear, had tried to stay in control of his emotions. Well Simon wasn't having that, Holland had to learn that there was nothing that he controlled anymore, he had to learn that Simon controlled every aspect of his life now including his emotions. So he had slowly inched his hand up Holland's chest, gently teasing a nipple to hardness. Yes, Holland might not realize it intellectually but his body obviously recognized that this was right, this was what he'd been destined for. The struggle for control being played out on the face in front of him fascinated Simon. He knew that panic was welling up inside of Holland and with just a little more pushing the dam would break and it would come pouring out, it would be a good first step for him. Achingly slowly Simon had let his hand roam around to Holland's back and then down towards the waistband of his shorts. The self-control which Simon had had to exert upon himself to just let the tips of his fingers slip under the material had been huge. How he'd wanted to just rip the material away and take what he wanted then and there, but he'd steadied himself and recovered. Hearing the whimper escaping from those quivering lips had overwhelmed him for a moment, and Simon had slid his hand into the soft, brown hair gripping gently and leaned forward into him. He could smell Holland as he'd leaned in towards his ear; a mixture of mint, lemon, sweat and terror, Simon had been unable to resist breathing in the heady scent. Then his gentle, soothing "sshh" as if he'd been calming a frightened animal.

Again Holland had reacted beautifully, that control he was trying so hard to maintain slipping away even more. He had bitten into that delectable lower lip, just as Simon had fantasized of doing so often, and a drop of blood had welled up where he broke the skin. The sight had mesmerized Simon; unable to resist he had leant forward and tasted the blood with his tongue. Just as Holland was trying to suppress his moans of terror so Simon had had to suppress his moan of pure desire. He savoured the taste of Holland's blood knowing that this would not be the last time he would get to enjoy it's unique flavour, he intended to ensure that Holland would bled many more times for his pleasure. 

Slowly Simon had moved his fingers, still just under the waistband of Holland's boxer shorts, until they came to rest just under his navel. How he had relished the effect he was having on his prisoner. Holland was quivering, his entire body as taut as a bow string, every muscle straining, his breath coming in tight, panicked little gasps. Holland hadn't been able to keep silent any longer then, a tremor in his voice as he'd begged Simon to stop, but Simon had had no intention of stopping. Instead he had let his hand drift downwards until he could feel Holland's penis under his hand, squeezing gently, claiming what was his. Finally the calm façade, which Holland had been trying to maintain, had crumbled totally; he had writhed and bucked trying to escape, his wrists and ankles becoming reddened the skin beginning to break. Then to Simon's surprise anger had erupted from the bound man in front of him, red-hot fury emanating from every pore. He had spat his fury swearing at Simon, making demands upon him, now that would not do Simon would not tolerate defiance, Holland would have to learn his place so he'd removed his hand and unsheathed his knife. 

As he had pulled back Holland's neck so he could gain better access to his throat Simon had taken a moment to admire it. A long graceful curve of pale flesh which cried out for the contact of his sharp knife. For a moment Simon remembered another of his playthings, James had been tall and slim just like Holland, with a similar enticing throat. He remembered how his knife had sliced through James' throat and how his hot blood had poured down over his hands; a moment's struggle before death had claimed him. Simon almost wished he'd saved that particular method of death for Holland, but it was too late for regrets now it had fitted James at the time and so what was done was done, besides he was sure he'd find something equally fitting for Holland when the time came. Simon had smiled as the short-lived defiance had drained out of Holland leaving him afraid to move as Simon had cut his clothes from his body. When he'd finished Simon had let go and stepped back to admire the view. Holland had blushed his skin flushing in an enchanting fashion. Simon had left him alone then knowing that the humiliation Holland was feeling would help to weaken him for what was to come, and the fear of the unknown, imagining what might happen was often worse then the reality when it arrived. Of course that wasn't always the case in Simon's experience reality was usually more of a nightmare then anything which could be dreamed of, as Holland would soon discover. In fact Simon thought that there was no time like the present to teach Holland that important lesson, it was time he learnt exactly what he was here for, time he learnt who he belonged to now. With one last check that all of his monitoring equipment was in place and working properly Simon went back to the room which held his prisoner.

As quietly as possible Simon entered the room and closed the door behind him, he glanced across at the table on the other side of the room, it was perfect he'd set it up yesterday in anticipation of this moment. He made some noise with his feet, shuffling them waiting to see how Holland would react. As he expected his presence was noted immediately, he could see Holland straining his senses, trying to pin point his position in the room. Smiling Simon decided to play with him for a moment, and so he merely circled him taking the opportunity to admire the body before him. He enjoyed the slim lines, the perfect skin, the lithely muscled form pleasing him, and he felt his body beginning to respond. He watched as Holland's head had turned as he moved, using his hearing to track Simon's movements.

"P..please I don't know what you want with me, but you haven't hurt me so things are still controllable, we can sort things out, if you let me go now….." He listened as Holland's voice petered out, Simon knew that Holland was coming to realise that he was not going to be able to escape this situation unscathed.

"God just talk to me… please talk to me…please." Holland's voice was taking on a desperate cadence.

Simon knew that the time was right, moving forward he pushed his body against Holland's back his knife to his throat. With his mouth pressed to his captive's ear he whispered,

"One false move, one more word and I'll slit your throat, do you understand?"

Holland slowly, carefully nodded. 

"Good boy," Simon praised him. "Now I'm going to untie your feet, if you even try and kick me you'll be dead, after that I'm going to untie your hands and again one false move and I'll kill you. Now do you understand?"

Again a careful nod.

Simon slowly knelt keeping a watchful eye on the other man he undid the ropes around his ankles. He felt Holland tense and knew that he was fighting the urge to kick out. However, he also knew that Holland wasn't an idiot that he knew that with his arms still bound escape was impossible. Rising Simon held the knife close to Holland's throat cutting into the soft flesh there slightly, emphasising the danger to him. Reaching up he untied Holland's arms; they dropped to his side the change of position in them making Holland groan slightly as his muscles cramped. This was a dangerous moment for Simon, he knew that Holland was weighing up his options, trying to figure out if he could make a successful escape attempt now that he was untied.

"Move forward with me slowly, do as I say and I won't hurt you." Simon lied, but it had the desired affect. His prisoner had decided that for now the wisest course of action was to cooperate, to wait for a better chance, he knew that he was waiting for him to make a mistake. They slowly moved forward towards the table, when they reached it Simon knew he'd have to act quickly that Holland might guess what was about to happen to him and panic, fighting him. After all he didn't want him to get hurt badly, not yet. So as soon as they were close enough Simon quickly pushed Holland forward, unbalancing him, and struck him twice in the kidneys with his fist. Holland had stumbled forward with the push and the pain of the blows distracted him, next Simon struck him on the back of his head with the knife's hard bone handle, it was enough to momentarily stun him. This gave Simon the time he needed to secure first one and then the other of Holland's arms to the table with the rope he'd had already tied to two of the heavy wooden table's legs. Though in pain and still groggy the bound man began fighting his bonds in earnest when he realised that he had been bent over a table and tied down; the vulnerability of his situation adding a desperation to his struggles.

"Let me up now, you untie me and let me up you son of a bitch!" He'd spat out, his struggles increasing.

"QUIET!" Simon shouted, "You will be quiet now or I swear I'll take this knife and gut you." He underlined his command by punching Holland in the lower back again. Simon quickly bent down pulling and tying first one of Holland's ankles to the remaining two table legs, and then the other. Standing back Simon looked down at the other man who was his now for the taking, perfectly positioned, open to him. He saw Holland's back quaking as sobs overtook him. This was perfect the moment was here, time for Simon to begin his possession of what was his. He placed the knife on the floor and quickly undressed. Holland had heard the rustle of clothing being removed and Simon knew that any self-deluding thoughts that Holland had had were now completely destroyed.

"Don't..don't do this, please, please…let me go…please I don't want this," Holland sobbed.

"Sshh," Simon murmured as he stepped forward stroking his hand down the naked back before him. "It's alright I'm here, I'm going to take care of you."

He felt Holland flinch away from his touch and smiled.

"No, no, no…please no don't..don't touch me. I just want to go home…please…please just…j..just let me go home." Holland begged as Simon's hand stroked down over his buttocks.

"Don't be a silly boy," Simon chided him. "You are home now, you're with me where you belong." He lent forward, draping his body over the trembling one below him rubbing his cheek against Holland's shoulder. He breathed in, fear coming off of Holland in waves,

"I'm going to look after you, love you you'll see." He soothed. He pushed his erection against Holland's ass, showing him how much he was wanted. Holland was whimpering, small sounds of distress coming from his mouth, his body tight with tension, every muscle clenched. Simon let his fingers trail down to the cleft between Holland's buttocks, his finger dipping in, seeking the hidden entrance to the other man's body. He leaned around so he could see his face, every contour was lined in distress, the blindfold soaked through with tears, Simon didn't think Holland had ever looked as beautiful as he did then. He slowly pushed his finger into the shivering body beneath him. Holland cried out in pain, not just physical pain but the sound of a soul being destroyed.

"So tight, I knew you'd be so tight, so perfect," Simon praised Holland. He felt his penis throbbing in anticipation, eager to enter the silky heat before it. He moved his finger in and out as much as the clenched muscles would allow.

"Relax baby it's alright I'm going to make you feel so good, if you just relax…hhmm..can you do that for me?" He asked.

"I can't, I can't, your hurting me…please stop…I don't want this… your hurting me," Holland wailed. Struggling frantically to pull his wrists free he didn't notice the blood beginning to run down his arms from the torn flesh where the ropes were cutting into him. "Let me go…God anything just don't do this…please."

Simon was ecstatic this was perfect the moment he'd been waiting for here at last, for him inflicting pain and fear was the ultimate aphrodisiac, the power intoxicating.

"Oh this is going to be so good for us baby, you don't know how many times I've dreamed of this moment, the two of us alone together. The fantasies I've had that can all come true now you're here with me, now that you're here with me forever. You'll see we belong together, no one else just us." Simon crooned in Holland's ear. He removed his finger and prepared himself, spitting on his hand and rubbing it over his erection. He didn't want to smooth the way too much, make things too easy on Holland. He always took them hard the first time; it helped to strip away their own persona, so that it was easier for him to mold them to his needs. Annoyed that Holland wasn't keeping still Simon smacked him hard across the ass, the sudden stinging pain momentarily freezing him in place. Seizing the opportunity Simon gripped Holland's hips firmly, holding him in place, he centered himself for a moment and then thrust forward with all his strength. The scream which his brutal intrusion elicited made the blood in his veins flare with the fire of lust. For Simon rape was the ultimate torture, the ultimate power, where you could force someone to lose their identity and soul. He could feel Holland's muscles clamping around his penis, trying to expel the intruder from his body. He was so tight he couldn't help letting his moans of passion join Holland's screams. Having paused for a moment he steeled himself and forced himself all the way into the hot body beneath him. Simon stopped again trying to take in everything, soak up the whole sensory experience. The feel of Holland's ass clamped tight around him, hearing his screams, his fingers scrabbling on the wooden surface of the table in a vain attempt at escape. Looking down at the man under him Simon could see the bruises his fingers were leaving on his hips, he watched as beads of cold sweat ran down Holland's back, unable to resist he leaned forward and licked a trail up his spine. The screaming had ceased for a moment and Simon could hear Holland's panting breath, panicked on the verge of hyperventilating. He sniffed the room heavy with the delicious aroma of fear and sex. He lost himself unable to control his needs anymore and began thrusting into the unwilling body beneath him. As the horror filled, pain filled screaming began again Simon increased the speed and force of his lunges. He knew he wouldn't last long, not this first time. He bent forward tightening his grip, feeling his finger nails cutting into the skin under them, between his frantic moves he murmured soothing words of praise,

"Oh yeah baby so good…you're so hot, so tight. Such a good boy for me. I'm going to take such care of you."

The screams were fading to be replaced with pain filled groans, and as he listened carefully Simon heard the whispered litany,

"This isn't happening, this isn't real, this isn't happening, this isn't real, thisisn'thappeningthisisn'trealthisisn'thappeningthisisn'treal…" Repeated over and over like a prayer, the words running together, merging, blurring.

Simon felt his movements in Holland's body becoming smoother, easier, he knew his way was being lubricated well now by Holland's blood. The thought of this was enough to tip him over the edge, and with an inarticulate cry he felt himself cumming deep inside the other man. He was his now completely, Simon owned him now body and soul, the need to mark what was his overwhelming he leant forward and bit down deeply on Holland's shoulder, blood welling into his mouth, a familiar taste. Holland cried out at the sharp pain this caused, sobbing as Simon withdrew from his broken body. Glancing down Simon smiled at the blood and semen running down the insides of Holland's thighs. Pleased he leant down and kissed his back,

"There you did so well, you were so good for me, such a good boy." He said.

"L…let me go home…p…please… let me go h…home," Holland sobbed.

Simon laughed softly, "Don't be silly now I've already told you you are home now."

He walked over to his clothes, picking them and the discarded knife up from the floor. Seeing the blood on his penis he decided he could do with a hot shower. He began to move away from the softly crying man, turning he told him,

"Don't worry baby I'll be back soon and we can play some more games."

Then he was gone.


	5. Night Chapter 5

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Night – Chapter 5.

The drive back to The Barn was done on autopilot, Claudette's mind a whirl of thoughts, ideas and impressions. The crime scene investigators had arrived at Dutch's house pretty quickly having been given the heads-up by Aceveda, suddenly people seemed to be everywhere spreading fingerprint dust on the surfaces, photographing everything, going through all of Dutch's belongings. Damn, Claudette knew how much Dutch would hate that, he was a very private person and he would be mortified to think that complete strangers were tramping through his home, poking and prying into everything. Of course Claudette knew it was necessary but still it didn't mean she had to like it. God as if there was anything to like about this whole situation. As she parked her car and switched off the engine she took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment to steady herself, and get a hold of her emotions. Claudette knew that to help Dutch now she needed to keep a clear head, she couldn't allow herself to become distracted from her job by the worry she felt. As she climbed out of her car and headed into the precinct she was aware of the Strike Team's SUV pulling into the carpark behind her. Without pausing she went straight into the ladies room, she just needed a moment to gather herself. Thankful that no one else was in there she crossed to the sink, filling it with cold water she splashed some on her face and after drying off with a paper towel she regarded her reflection in the mirror. She could swear she'd aged about 10 years since first thing this morning. Suddenly the bathroom door opened to reveal Vic Mackey's concerned face, stepping in and shutting the door he said,

"I thought I might find you in here, are you OK?"

"Yeah I just needed a minute, you know?" Claudette replied, still looking at her reflection.

"I understand, but Aceveda just caught me, he wants us both in his office right now, the feds are here."

Looking at Mackey in the mirror for the first time Claudette was surprised by the genuine concern she saw there. Sighing she turned and straightened her shoulders,

"OK lets go." She said.

Vic turned towards the door his hand on the door handle, then pausing he turned back to her,

"We'll get Dutchboy back you know and catch this sick prick at the same time."

"Oh damn right we will, damn right." Claudette agreed.

They looked into each others eyes both seeing the fierce determination they each felt reflected there, and together they went upstairs to Aceveda's office.

Claudette immediately recognised one of the federal agents seated in the captain's office, as Jim Ryde who had come at Dutch's request to help profile Sally's killer. Moving forward she held out her hand,

"Special agent Ryde," She said.

"Detective Wyms, this is my partner Mike Wallace," He said, rising from his chair, shaking her hand and indicating the man next to him. Claudette nodded in his direction, and turned and introduced Vic.

Getting down to business Aceveda asked Claudette,

"Is there no doubt, it's the work of The Stalker?"

"No doubt, the MO matches reports that I've seen from the other five crime scenes. He got into Dutch's house in the middle of the night and abducted him right out from his bed. There were signs of a struggle in the room, a broken lamp and glass, and some blood on the bed clothes and wall." Claudette paused for a moment remembering the scene.

"Anything else?" Aceveda inquired.

"Yeah there were photos on the bed, photos of Dutch. This guys been watching him for a while, and not just outside either."

At Aceveda's puzzled expression she continued,

"There were photos that must have been taken inside the house, he's got surveillance equipment actually planted in Dutch's home." 

Claudette saw the two agents exchange a look with each other,

"Something tells me your not that surprised to hear that," She observed.

"No were not," Jim admitted. "There were cameras planted in each of the other victims homes, and their phones were tapped to. I expect when we look we'll find that Detective Wagenbach's phone is bugged as well."

"Shit," Mackey muttered. "Are you guys any closer to catching this son of a bitch?"

"Special agents Young and Alvarez are flying in from DC on the next available flight. They've been working the case from the beginning and hopefully they'll have some insights into the events here." Agent Wallace told them.

"Great, I'm sure Dutch would be glad to know the cavalry's on the way," Vic said sourly.

Aceveda glanced sternly at him before turning to the two agents, 

"What do you have for us while we wait for them to get here?" He asked them.

"Mike's got the files from the other cases here." Agent Ryde replied, and as he did so his partner laid five thick files out on Aceveda's desk. He opened them up and on the top page of each one the faces of five different men stared up at them.

Five dead men Claudette thought with a shudder, a sudden vision of a sixth folder open with Dutch's picture on top flashed before her, glancing at Aceveda and Vic she could tell she wasn't the only one to have that thought cross their mind. One after another Jim Ryde supplied a name and brief history to go with each of the faces.

"Officer Peter Harlow, age 27, New York, Caucasian. Abducted 29/5/97, found shot in the back of the head 5/6/97.

Detective Anthony Jackson, age 37, Chicago, African American. Abducted 13/12/98 found hanged 20/12/98.

Officer James Ozdolek, age 28, Washington DC, Caucasian. Abducted 3/7/99 found with his throat cut 10/7/99.

Officer Stefan Coode, age 34, Hamilton Ohio, Caucasian. Abducted 17/3/00 found suffocated 24/3/00.

Officer Mitchell Lovett, age 23, Miami, African American. Abducted 2/1/01 found stabbed to death 9/1/01.

As far as we can tell they had nothing in common with each other except for the fact they all lived alone. They were each taken from their homes at night, held prisoner for seven days while they were tortured and sexually assaulted and then they were each murdered."

"You're sure the same person is responsible for each case?" Aceveda asked him.

"Yes quite sure," Agent Ryde assured him. "You see he left his DNA and finger prints at the scene of each abduction and each murder." He glanced at his partner for a moment and then looked at Claudette when he told them, "There's something that has never been released, not even to other law enforcement agencies, but he films everything he does to the police officers and sends the tapes to their partner everyday. In each tape he leaves us clues to decipher which will lead us to the place they're being held, he treats it as a game to prove how clever he is."

"Jesus," Vic said, "just how sick is this bastard?"

"About as sick as it gets." Ryde answered him grimly. "Young and Alvarez will call us when their flight gets in, but to get a jump on things I'd like to make a start by setting up an incident room where we can collate all the evidence as it comes in. Then I'd like to go out to the scene and take a look for myself and find out how the CSI work is getting along."

"Of course, you'll have everything that you need just ask." Aceveda told the agents. "If you come this way we'll begin to sort out the logistics." As he led them out of the room Vic turned to Claudette,

"We'll figure this out and get him back," he said trying to sound as confident as he could.

"I bet that's what the fellow officers, friends of the other five men thought too. God we're going to have to watch tapes of this pervert hurting Dutch knowing all the time we're running out of time to find him. It's a nightmare," Claudette's voice quivered with pent up emotion as she spoke.

"I know it's going to be hard but we're united in this OK, we can do this together. Come on lets get to work." Vic said.

Quickly wiping her eyes Claudette nodded, "You're right let's go."

As they moved out of Aceveda's office she glanced at the clock on the wall it said 10:17 am, it was going to be a long day, a long seven days she corrected herself sadly.


	6. Night Chapter 6

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Night – Chapter 6.

Simon felt so much better after his shower; he walked over to his monitor just to make sure that Holland was all right. Rubbing his hair dry with a towel he smiled when he saw Holland's abused form on the screen. Now he had promised Holland that he would look after him so this was the time to do just that. He quickly fetched a bowl of hot water, a clean towel and some antiseptic cream that also contained an analgesic. Simon was always careful to take care of his playthings, he had made a mistake with Peter and hadn't kept his little wounds and tears clean enough and he'd gotten sick with an infection. It had meant that by the end of their time together he had been sickly and not nearly as much fun for Simon as he should have been. He wouldn't make that mistake again, and especially not with Holland, no Simon wanted him in tiptop condition for as long as possible. Humming to himself Simon went into the room where Holland was held prisoner. 

When he heard the door opening Holland began to pull at his bonds and little whimpering noises of distress began to escape from his mouth.

"Now, now no need to be silly I'm just here to make you more comfortable, to look after you. If you're a good boy I might even take that blindfold off. Would you like that hmm?" Simon said as he walked towards his captive. When he reached Holland he placed the bowl of water, towel and cream on the floor; he couldn't resist running his hand over one taut flank. The reaction was immediate and not at all what he expected. 

"Don't touch me you fucking pervert, don't you dare touch me!" The bound man before him screamed. "I'm going to fucking kill you, I'm going to take my gun and blow your fucking brains out you piece of shit!" All the while he pulled and squirmed try to get free from the rope which secured him to the table, his hysteria building by the second, desperate for escape.

Simon felt his anger flare inside of him white hot and vicious, here he was coming to help Holland and this was all the thanks he got, to have it thrown back in his face, to have that language screamed at him. Holland had to be severely punished, he had to learn to curb that temper of his, and he had to learn to be grateful when Simon decided to show him kindness. His hands shaking in temper Simon quickly undid his leather belt pulling it from it's loops, and clutching the buckle in his right hand he got ready to apply some much needed discipline.

"Silence!" Simon shouted. "How dare you speak to me like that, after all the time and trouble I've spent on you. I chose you, you're special and this is how you behave. You've got to learn your place now, your old life is over this is you're new life, here with me, pleasing me, doing what you're told, obeying me. I can see you need to be corrected, well so be it."

"No! Let me go, you've got to let me go, I can't…" The rest of Holland's words were cut off in a yelp of pain as Simon brought his belt down across his buttocks. Simon allowed his anger to take him completely, his belt cutting through the air and connecting with the flesh before him over and over again. He lost track of time passing giving himself up totally to purging himself of the white heat that burned inside his head. Simon wasn't sure how many times he'd struck Holland but when the blinding rage finally eased he could see the results of his actions, and he thrilled at the sight. Holland's back, shoulders, buttocks and upper thighs were criss crossed with angry red welts, some of which oozed blood. The muscles in Holland's back twitched involuntarily under the evidence of the abuse his body had suffered. He was gasping in lungfuls of air; every breath out accompanied by a moan of pain. Simon couldn't resist the beauty he saw before him, he quickly freed himself from his trousers and stepped up to Holland resting his erection at the opening to Holland's body which still trickled a little fresh blood due to Simon's earlier attentions. He glanced down as he gripped Holland's hips, pulling him back towards himself and up a fraction to make Simon's lunges even deeper than before when the moment came, and he smiled pleased to see his fingertips fitting perfectly into the bruises that he'd left there before. Holding still for one moment longer he whispered,

"You know it's for your own good don't you, naughty boys have to be punished."

With that he plunged into the warm body he craved. His groan of passion overlapped his victim's groan of hurt and anguish. Each lunge of Simon's body into Holland was accompanied by that same haunting sound. With no strength left to call upon to struggle or fight he lay under Simon passively being taken, his body being driven mercilessly into the hard, cold, wooden surface beneath him. With a cry of perverted pleasure Simon climaxed, his hands grasping reflexively onto Holland's hips his nails cutting 10 new half moons into the bruises. Pulling his flaccid penis from Holland's body Simon briskly rearranged his clothing and then observed the other man. With a smile of satisfaction he pulled his knife from the sheath in his pocket and cut the ropes holding Holland's legs in place, and then freed his wrists from the rope cutting into them. He quickly stepped back out of the way as Holland slid from the table onto the floor, where he lay unmoving. Simon gathered up his cleaning implements that would have to wait until tomorrow he thought to himself, and turning towards the door he left the room humming happily. He left his chosen one lying motionless, torn and bleeding in a growing pool of semen, blood and despair.


	7. Night Chapter 7

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Night – Chapter 7.

The past six hours had moved along at a frantic pace. The whole precinct was a buzz with activity, officers had come in on their day off or were working overtime, anything to try and help. Claudette, Aceveda, Vic and Special Agents Ryde and Wallace were in the newly appointed incident room poring over the initial forensic reports from Dutch's house. When Ryde and Wallace had gone there to take a look at the crime scene they had managed to hurry the forensics along by offering the FBI's laboratory facilities. So far it didn't look particularly optimistic. The blood on the bedding and wall was Dutch's blood group, as was the blood on the broken glass which indicated it got there during a struggle, this was confirmed by an analysis of the spatter pattern of the blood drops. The bloody handprint was also Dutch's as the fingerprints it left were confirmed as his. Most of the fingerprints in the bedroom were Dutch's; the only exceptions didn't show up on the computer record searches carried out so far, although they did match prints from the other crime scenes. The semen sample the perpetrator had left also matched that of the other samples they'd gathered from the other officer's homes and also from their bodies. Of course it was too early for a DNA match, that would take weeks; but it had been discovered that the perpetrator was a secretor of blood group A and this was the same as the sample found at Dutch's house, and as Dutch's blood group was AB that discounted him. As they'd suspected surveillance cameras were found in Dutch's home, they had been minute but apparently top of the line equipment, hidden in light fixtures and in the couple of fire alarms in the house. Basically every room was covered and the phone had also been tapped, Claudette had shuddered at the thought of Dutch's every move being watched and for God knows how long. It was this surveillance equipment which actually provided their only viable lead, house to house inquiries having failed to come up with any witnesses. The tech guys who'd looked at it confirmed it only had a ½ mile range tops so that meant the perpetrator probably had a place within a ½ mile radius of Dutch's house. Somewhere he'd rented perhaps, a house or lock up, somewhere he might have relaxed enough to of made a mistake, left a clue. There were officers out now questioning landlords, estate agents and letting agencies.

At least the forensic reports made slightly easier reading then the files of the previous five cases. There had been rumours, gossip on the police grapevine about what had happened to the officers who were victims of The Stalker, but none of that could of prepared them for the graphic details and crime scene photos contained within those files. As she had read through the files Claudette felt ill, and if the faces of Vic and Aceveda were a reflection of hers she knew she must look pretty sickly too. Vic dropped the file he'd been reading onto the table top in disgust, looking up at the FBI agents he asked,

"What are you guys at Wilshire Boulevard doing. Don't you have anything on this guy, I mean you must have something right, some kind of clue as to who your dealing with?"

Before either of the agents could answer a voice from the door spoke,

"Actually we think we do know who were dealing with, his name's Simon Collins."

Standing in the doorway were two men both in their forties, in dark suits that just screamed feds. They stepped into the room and introduced themselves.

"Special Agent Toby Young, and this is my partner Frank Alvarez. We from the Washington office."

After introductions were returned Claudette impatiently turned to them and asked,

"What about this suspect Collins, what makes you think he's the one who's got my partner, and how is that going to get him back?"

It was Alvarez who pulled a new file from the briefcase he was carrying, he opened it on the tabletop and there was a photo of the prime suspect on top. Claudette moved forward to get a good look at the man, the animal, who could be responsible for Dutch's disappearance. The face that stared up at her made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, a shiver shot down her spine. It was a cold face, cruel. He was in his mid forties and although it was only a head and shoulders shot you could see that this man was strong, powerfully built. He was smiling in the photo but there was no warmth to it, it never reached his eyes that were a cold, watery blue in colour, washed out and lifeless. The smile, the curving of those thin, bloodless lips was more of a sneer than anything else was. God, Claudette hated to think that her partner could be with this man, at his mercy.

"Simon Patrick Collins, 44, born in Hamilton, Ohio, current whereabouts unknown." Alvarez told them.

"Hamilton, Ohio isn't that where one of the victims was from?" Mackey asked.

"Exactly," Alvarez confirmed, smiling grimly. "That's what led us to him. The fact that all of the victims came from big cities except for officer Coode, it was an anomaly from his pattern and serial predators usually don't deviate from their routine unless there's a significant reason for doing so. We went to Hamilton and dug a little deeper, for someone with a grudge against the police, someone with money too, the surveillance equipment he uses is top quality equipment, expensive. Collins' name came up, and when we questioned some of the officers who remembered him and read the newspaper reports on his case he definitely fitted the profile."

"Why, what's his grudge and how does Dutchboy fit into his warped little world view?" Mackey asked.

Alvarez looked at them all and then continued his explanation,

"Collins was convicted in 1986, along with another guy Phillip Newman, of the abduction, rape and murder of a 19 year old kid Geoff Massara. There was no doubt of Newman's involvement the forensic evidence was overwhelming, but Collins was another matter. He'd been more careful, there were no fibre traces left by him; no fingerprints and he'd used a condom so no semen sample either. However, he made one mistake, his car, hairs from Geoff were found in the trunk and then Newman gave a statement implicating Collins, they were both given life with no chance of parole. Ten years later all that changed. One of the detectives who'd been involved in the case was caught manipulating evidence in a case he working."

"You mean he planted evidence to secure a conviction." Aceveda interjected.

"Basically yeah, anyway at the same time Collins' accomplice Newman suddenly changes his statement, he says that this same detective coerced him into implicating Collins, that Collins was innocent he'd never had anything to do with the kid's murder."

"What did the corrupt detective have to say?" Claudette asked.

"Not a lot," Young spoke up for the first time. "Seems he didn't fancy spending time in the company of men he'd put away in the state penitentiary, he ate his gun."

Alvarez nodded and then took up the story again, "Collins had always maintained that the hair evidence had been planted and with what had happened it gave credence to his claims, and of course Newman's evidence cliched things. An appeal was quickly launched and the state was eager to make the whole thing go away as soon as possible, he was pardoned and got $10 million as compensation and basically to go away and not talk to the press." 

"Why would Newman change his statement though to get Collins released?" Claudette wanted to know.

"It seems Newman had been diagnosed with lung cancer, it was terminal and he made the new statement under the guise of a death bed confession to clear his conscience before he met his maker. However, upon his release Collins paid for Newman's mother to be moved out of the state run nursing home she was in and into a luxury, very expensive place." 

"So you think Newman and Collins made a bargain?" Vic asked.

"Yeah, but it wasn't one Collins intended to keep. Newman died three months later and Collins disappeared as did the money paying for Mrs. Newman's care." Alvarez explained.

"But if he's been in the system then surely there's a record of his fingerprints, his DNA on file somewhere?" Mackey wanted to know.

Alvarez sighed, "You'd think so, but it seems that another part of the deal not to embarrass anyone at election time was that Collins would fade away as long as his fingerprints were removed from the computer files. I've been all through those files and whoever removed them did a damn good job, there's nothing left, even the forensic samples taken at the time of the trial were all destroyed."

"Shit!" Vic voiced the frustration they all felt. Turning to the FBI agents he asked, "But why Dutchboy, why would Collins pick him?"

"To be honest there's no real answer to that question other than bad luck, for some reason only Collins knows he was just unfortunate enough to catch his eye." Turning to Claudette Alvarez saw the anguish there, the same anguish he and Toby had seen on the faces of the other police officers partners, "I'm sorry." He said quietly to her, hating the fact that he knew how much worse this was going to get for her when the first tape arrived, as he knew it would before the night was over.

The tape arrived roughly five hours later; a courier delivering it, confused to find himself hustled off for questioning. Although Alvarez and Young both knew from past experience that it would have been collected from either an untraceable third party, or a left luggage locker always something that they wouldn't be able to track back to Collins. A forensic team quickly inspected it, but they found nothing but the obligatory set of fingerprints. Then came the moment they both dreaded as they sat in the darkened room and prepared to come face to face with evil. Also in the room were Special agents Ryde and Wallace, Captain Aceveda, Vic Mackey and of course Claudette. Before switching on the tape Agent Young turned to everyone and spoke,

"This is going to be hard, especially for those of you who know Detective Wagenbach, but we have to watch this all the way through because somewhere in here will be a clue to his whereabouts. I know you've been briefed about the little game this monster likes to play with us, but remember what he doesn't know is that were onto him this time. Ready?" He asked.

At the hesitant nods he received he reached over steeling himself, briefly catching his partners eye before pressing the play button and supplying everyone in the room with the stuff of their nightmares for years to come. 


	8. Night Chapter 8

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Night – Chapter 8.

Dutch groaned as he began to wake up, he tried to roll over but found his hands were stuck on something above his head and he couldn't get them free. Sensation was returning to his body and he felt as if he'd been run over by a truck. Slowly he opened his eyes and instantly regretted it, quickly shutting them again as bright, dazzling light blinded him and seemed to stab into his brain. His stomach rolled and he felt nausea building, suddenly vomit rose up into his mouth. He turned his head to the side and was sick, he tasted the burning, bitterness of bile as his stomach tried to expel it's contents, he could hear it splattering onto the floor. In fact as he began to dry heave he felt as if his body was trying to expel most of his major organs, or at the very least turn itself inside out. When he finally finished he felt weak and shaky absolutely exhausted, a strange lethargy settled into his limbs. Slowly and carefully he gradually opened his eyes frowning for a moment at the unfamiliar surroundings he saw, the strange bed he was lying on. Then suddenly memory came slamming into the forefront of his mind, turning quickly his stomach began to heave again as the past two days came back to him. 

When he'd been cut down earlier he'd fleetingly thought of trying to escape, trying to overpower the man who'd held a knife to his throat, but had decided it was too risky, he'd decided to bide his time and wait for a better opportunity. If he'd known what was in store for him Dutch felt pretty sure he would of willingly taken the risk and tried. Instead he'd just meekly allowed that bastard to push him along like a lamb to the slaughter. The punches he'd taken and the blow to his head had stunned him, but the moment he'd felt the table edge cutting into him as he'd been bent over it the truth that he'd been trying so hard to ignore could be denied no longer. He'd known what was coming, what he was about to suffer and that knowledge had terrified him. He'd struggled and in an attempt at bravado he'd shouted, demanded to be released, but when he'd been punched again and his legs pulled apart and secured to the table legs he'd lost it, crying, begging to be released. He'd felt like a coward, a sniveling coward but he hadn't been able to stop himself and at the same time he'd been ashamed by his reaction, he was a man he should be stoic, brave not crying like a baby. Hell he should have been able to fight, get free, and stop this from happening to him. Then his attacker had been all over him, touching him, talking about love and care, about Dutch being at home with him, insane nonsense which frightened Dutch because it showed him the this mad man only had a tenuous grasp on reality at best. When he had felt the erection pressed against his backside every muscle in his body had clenched tight, an instinctive reaction against the violation he'd known was coming. Then that first attack, no not attack it was rape, god it was so hard to even think the word but that was the truth it was no good trying to deny it, trying to sublimate it. The pain had been overwhelming; he'd felt as if he was being split in two, ripped apart. The feel of burning agony as his body had been invaded accompanied by the feeling of his own flesh tearing, being ripped open. Above his own screams and sobs he'd had to listen to his rapist cooing in his ear, about how good it felt, how good he was, Jesus. He could remember babbling out a denial trying to convince himself that none of it was real, a dream, a nightmare instead. Then he'd felt that pig go still, gripping his hips bruisingly hard and he'd recognised the signs, he'd known that his body was about to be polluted. He'd never be able to get clean again, it was too deep inside of him and would never be able to be scrubbed away. He remembered feeling something deep down inside himself break at that point, not something physical, no it had been something deeper than that, something more important than that. The bite to his shoulder had shot a sharp pain through him that had brought him back to himself, and he'd broken down sobbing, consumed by shame and humiliation. Then he'd been left there feeling the filth running down the insides of his legs.

How long he'd stayed like that crying his face wet with tears that the now sodden blindfold could no longer absorb, he didn't know but then he'd heard the door open again. He was back, talking to Dutch like he was his best friend, come to help him. Dutch had been so afraid he didn't think he'd survive another encounter with this monster, and then that hand had touched him and he'd freaked out, totally lost it. It had been a relief to find the anger inside of himself, he'd thought that all that was left in there was fear and pain, but there it had been burning and hot, and he'd reached out and grabbed onto it with all his strength. He'd let it consume him, overwhelming his terror; defiance coming to the fore he'd screamed at that sicko, threatened to kill him. For one moment it had felt so good, it had felt as if he was still inside of himself after all. However, it had also provoked a fury in the other man, and Dutch had paid a heavy price for that few seconds of self. The first blow had elicited a surprised yelp from him, but then he'd tried to keep his cries inside, he didn't want to give this pervert the satisfaction of hearing his pain. That resolution had lasted for about eleven blows then Dutch hadn't been able to internalize his suffering any more. It had been a long time since he'd felt the pain from a belt. He'd forgotten that after the initial flare of pain that a more intense agony followed in the place the blow had fallen. When blows were rained down on you in rapid succession there was no time for the pain to dissipate and so your whole existence became pain, and you could no longer differentiate between the blows, it all blurred together. Eventually the blows had ceased and Dutch had heard the man behind him panting because of the exertion of the beating he'd inflicted. Dutch had known what would follow and sure enough almost immediately he'd felt that loathsome touch on his body again. He'd felt himself being positioned as if he was an inanimate object and then that burning agony again. He'd not been able to scream this time, his strength gone, his voice had been screamed out during the beating he'd suffered. He hadn't been able to fight at all, no he'd just lain there and taken it, God how could he have done that he should of summoned some strength from somewhere, but it had been too much his body had just shut down. When he'd been finished with he'd been released from the table and had collapsed to the cold floor, unable to move, unable to separate one source of pain from another. All he'd been able to do was softly cry out his misery into the gathering darkness.

Dutch had known it was dark when he'd finally been able to stir enough to reach up and push the blindfold from his eyes. It had been completely black, it was strange how you got used to light when you lived in the city, where no night was ever truly dark, but this was an all encompassing, impenetrable blanket. He'd tried to move but the pain from his injuries which moved through his body in waves in time with his heartbeat, and combined with the freezing cold, which had leeched into his bones from the stone floor he was lying on, had robbed his limbs of any ability to support his body weight. In the end he'd given up and carefully pulling his knees as close to his chest as he could he'd curled into a fetal position and had been carried away into a, thankfully dreamless, sleep.

He'd been awoken the next morning by a large, strong body pressing him into the floor and a stinging prick, like a wasp's sting on his arm. He'd panicked, as he'd felt the warmth of the drug surging through his body, his blood warming with it. Then a rush of pleasure had overtaken him. He felt a strange feeling of euphoria as his pain and fear rapidly melted away, he heard the word morphine and knew this should bother him but somehow he no longer cared about much except this feeling of relief. It was becoming hard to focus his eyes, and a feeling of detachment from his own body began to affect him, it was as if he was floating above himself. As if from a distance he felt himself being moved onto something soft, it was bliss he sank into it. His arms were pulled above his head and rope was looped around them, there was another person present but the drugged stupor he was in didn't allow this fact to alarm him. From somewhere deep inside himself he heard his own voice shouting at him, screaming at him to resist, but it was so easy to turn away from that voice and embrace the warmth instead. He felt a warm wetness being wiped over him, a smell of oranges and limes, a feeling of cleanliness as he was washed. For a moment he dozed off, when he was startled awake he felt slightly more alert, but not much and he eagerly reached for the detached, floaty feeling he'd enjoyed before. As he'd reached out with his senses Dutch had encountered another familiar feeling, arousal. The gently stroking hand had felt so good he'd heard himself moan and arch up into the touch. He'd moaned again as he'd felt his penis being enveloped in a warm, wet and very skillful mouth. Dutch felt himself giving over his whole body to the pleasurable sensations coursing through him. He couldn't stop the little cry of disappointment from escaping from him when that talented mouth had left his erection. He heard a deep laugh and a heavy body moved against him, rubbing itself against him, a hardness pressing against his stomach, as the mouth moved slowly from one nipple to another, a burning trail of pleasure left in its wake. Something wasn't right, something was nagging at his subconscious. Dutch tried to ignore it, tried to give himself over to the pleasure, but it wouldn't go away it worried away at the back of his mind. The warm, wet mouth had moved up his neck and was nuzzling his ear, sending bolts of desire straight to his groin. A voice speaking to him, laughing at him, he felt a hand on his erection again stroking him higher and higher. The words in his ear began to make sense; they began to permeate the whirlpool of sensation he was caught up in,

"I knew you'd enjoy it…just relax…oh yeah you want it…mmnn oh good boy that's it."

The voice began to merge with another voice from his past; a voice he knew was coming from his memory, from his nightmares, his father. He felt himself frowning beginning to weakly struggle, trying unsuccessfully to move his hands so he could push that burning touch away from his body. He could hear his own voice now,

"No..n.. no…stop,"

However, it was too late he could feel the flush of excited pleasure begin to rise up within him as his orgasm began to rapidly build. He felt himself thrust once, twice into the hand that enveloped him and then he felt himself cumming, arching up an excitement he now knew was wrong consuming him.

Shuddering, his whole body trembling he slowly came back to himself and as he opened his eyes Dutch looked up for the first time to clearly see the face of his torturer. Grinning the man leaned towards him,

"I knew you wanted it, wanted me, you came like the slut you are," with that he rubbed his hand over Dutch's face, he rubbed Dutch's own cum over his face.

Dutch had frozen then, unable to respond, his guilt, his compliance smeared cold and drying over his pale face. The other man had continued to laugh, continued to taunt him as he'd spread Dutch's legs and entered him. The morphine was still dulling his pain receptors and Dutch felt nothing except his body being rhythmically driven into the mattress below him, animal grunts of pleasure in his ear. He deserved this, this was his punishment. Although intellectually Dutch knew that the drug had lowered his defenses, it had impaired his judgement. Men who were raped often ejaculated the fear of the attack confusing the body into arousal against their will, physical stimulation leading to an involuntary and unwanted response. However, he couldn't shut out that insidious voice that was whispering inside his head, telling him it was his fault, that he gave out the signals, that he made daddy do this. Dutch was so lost inside himself that he barely noticed the man cum inside him or the weight of him leaving his body. He was glad when he felt another sting on his arm; he gratefully gave himself up into the drugged oblivion that rushed through his veins.


	9. Night Chapter 9

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Night – Chapter 9.

Simon couldn't resist indulging himself; he settled back and flicked the video on, just one last watch before he dispatched it to Claudette, Holland's partner. He smiled hoping she would enjoy this one as much as the first tape he'd sent, as much as he'd enjoyed making them. He watched the screen come to life reveling in the events he saw unfolding there, his memories supplying the sensations to accompany the images.

When he'd seen that Holland had cried himself to sleep he had entered the room as stealthily as possible. Although he didn't mind the thought of a struggle, confident that he was stronger than Holland, he knew that Holland wasn't weakened enough yet and desperation could add strength that might surprise him. With the syringe ready in his hand he'd not disturbed the sleeping man and had been on him, pressing him down, injecting the morphine into his arm before Holland had even properly woken up. The reaction had been immediate, the fear of the unknown showing in Holland's eyes when he realised what had just happened, Simon had spoken to reassure him,

"It's alright its just a little morphine, just a little something to make you relax. We don't want you acting up like you did yesterday do we hmm, making me lose my temper?"

Looking into Holland's eyes as he'd lain beneath him he watched as his pupils had dilated and his body had relaxed, the drug taking hold. Simon ran his hand down over Holland's body, no reaction, no flinching, no trembling just acceptance, perfect. Simon wrinkled his nose Holland had become a little ripe, stale sweat mingled with stale semen and dried blood; he definitely needed a wash. He'd moved Holland to the bed that sat over in the far corner of the room, it was an old iron bedstead covered with a thin mattress, the bedstead perfect for securing reluctant participants, not that Simon anticipated any reluctance on Holland's part today, he'd see to that. However, Simon enjoyed tying his partners down he found it erotic, the domination and power it represented stimulating, so he'd carefully bound Holland's arms above his head making sure he was held firmly. Then he'd gone to fetch the washing implements he'd tried to use yesterday. Simon took his time running the wash cloth over Holland's body, the scent of the citrus soap filling the room, smiling he noticed that Holland had actually closed his eyes and appeared to be asleep. Rolling him carefully onto his side Simon had cleaned the broken welts on Holland's back from the beating he'd received the day before, remembering that infection was a possibility Simon had carefully rubbed antiseptic cream into the deepest cuts. Once Holland had been lying on his back again Simon had pushed his legs apart, coating a finger thoroughly in cream Simon had inserted it gently inside Holland's body. He watched his face for a reaction but the drug in his bloodstream had too deep a hold on Holland and he didn't stir. Simon could feel the tears he'd inflicted, the bruised tissues swollen from the abuse they'd suffered, he licked his lips in anticipation the swelling would mean Holland was even tighter than before, he could hardly wait to experience that velvety heat again. However, this was Holland's time Simon reminded himself, it was time for Holland to be shown his true self, time he recognised what he was, a whore. Simon had recognised it in him, just as he had with all the others, as soon as he'd seen him. Simon had been searching for a new quarry, deciding to try the West Coast he'd traveled to Los Angeles and studying a street map of the city had decided on Farmington at random. He'd spent two days watching the precinct house, The Barn they called it, when he'd seen him. Walking out with Claudette they had been talking animatedly about something and she'd said something which had made them both laugh, Simon had had his camera in his hand taking photographs knowing that this was the one. It was in the way he held himself, the way he looked, the way he moved, Simon had known he would respond to his love, he would blossom under him and be able to release his inner self, his sensual side just for Simon. Simon enjoyed showing his chosen companions all that they were capable of, all that their bodies could endure. He quickly cleared away the washing things and undressed.

Lying next to Holland he had gently taken his flaccid penis into his hand and had begun to tease it to hardness. Slowly it began to swell under his touch; Holland began to make small sounds of excitement, pushing himself into Simon's hand, craving more contact. Simon had gazed at Holland's face his eyes were slightly glazed, staring into the distance, his skin flushed pink with arousal, lips parted while he made little breathy pants and moans. The sight enchanted Simon and he'd leaned down and taken Holland's erection into his mouth, using all his skills to stimulate him even further. Holland's hips began to arch up from the bed, thrusting himself as deeply into Simon's mouth as he could, his moans and pants becoming more frantic, more urgent. When he'd tasted the salty bitterness of Holland's pre-cum Simon had known that Holland would climax without much more stimulation, and it was too early for that so he'd decided to slow things down a little. Releasing Holland's penis from his mouth he'd licked his way up the lean body laid out before him, laughing at Holland's moan of protest at the loss of his mouth on his erection. Simon rubbed his body against Holland's enjoying the stimulating friction of warm flesh on warm flesh. Simon's own erection leaked pre-cum onto Holland's stomach as he thrust himself against it, leaving glittering trails to mark the skin there. Simon had licked his way across Holland's chest, from one nipple to the other, teasing first one hardened nub of flesh and then the other. Holland had been writhing under him, driven higher and higher by Simon's touch, by his tongue. Simon had licked that gloriously pale graceful throat, pausing to suck and bite, marking what he possessed. His tongue had flicked out over Holland's ear eliciting groans of desire from the lost man beneath him. Simon had whispered soft words of encouragement to him,

"I knew you'd enjoy it when you let yourself go, that's it just relax. Mmnn you like that don't you, oh yeah you want it, you want me don't you hmm, you want me inside you. Mmnn oh good boy that's it, that feels so good."

Simon paused slightly when he felt a subtle change in Holland, he was beginning to stiffen up under him, tension beginning to permeate his body, the morphine was beginning to wear off, damn Simon knew he should of given him a higher dose. Holland was trying to pull his hands free, trying weakly to pull himself away from Simon's touch,

"No..n..no..stop." Simon heard him pleading.

Simon wasn't going to lose him now, he stroked his hand down Holland's body encircling his erection, it was flagging a little as Holland's distress began to slowly escalate. However, several firm, expert stokes from Simon's hand and he felt Holland's resistance waning, the pleasurable sensations Simon was supplying to his overloaded nervous system were proving too strong to resist. Two strong thrusts into Simon's hand and Holland arched off the mattress crying out as he came hard into Simon's hand.

Simon had waited for the panting man on the bed to come down from his post-orgasmic high. Holland had slowly opened his eyes, confused he'd frowned into Simon's face. Leaning close Simon had whispered the truth into Holland's ear,

"I knew you wanted it, wanted me, you came like the slut you are."

A s Holland's eyes had opened wide in horror as he realised what he'd done Simon had delivered the final blow as he'd wiped the now cool cum which coated his hand over Holland's shocked face. Looking into Holland's eyes as he had Simon had been able to watch as the light in them died and he'd retreated into himself in a confusion of shame, humiliation and self-recrimination. 

Simon felt the thrill of power as he knew his manipulation of the man beside him had been successful, the knowledge that he was slowly chipping away at the person Holland thought he was, replacing him with the person Simon wanted him to be, intoxicated Simon. Quickly he'd knelt between Holland legs, spreading them, positioning them as he'd swiftly entered the unresisting body. As he'd fucked him Simon had been able to stare into Holland's desolate face, knowing that he had put that expression into those vulnerable eyes. He'd quickened his thrusts as he felt his orgasm approaching, he'd pressed his face against Holland's shoulder grunting out his pleasure as he'd cum.

When he'd pulled his penis from Holland's body he'd looked down at his face. Holland's eyes were squeezed shut, his face wet with silent tears. Reaching into his trouser pocket as he picked them up Simon felt the extra syringe he'd placed in there, he wanted Holland well rested for tomorrow so he'd pressed it into his arm and released a further dose of morphine into his system. He watched Holland's face and body relax as the drug took hold and then he'd left the room to prepare the tape.


	10. Night Chapter 10

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Night – Chapter 10.

Claudette rubbed her hands over her tired face, she felt as though she hadn't slept for a month instead of two days. Aceveda had sent her home after they had watched that first tape last night but sleep had been out of the question after what she'd seen, instead she'd freshened up and changed her clothes returning to The Barn after a couple of hours. Aceveda had frowned at her, but had had the good sense not to say anything, after all he'd been in that darkened room and had sat watching those obscene images, he knew what was at stake, that she couldn't afford the time to sleep not when Dutch was still in the hands of that creature. Now she sat waiting for forensics to clear the second tape for them to watch, God her stomach lurched at the thought of it. Claudette blew out her breath and leaned back in her chair, memories from the first tape coming unbidden into her mind, just as they had since she'd seen it, every now and then some horrible image from it would pop into her head without warning.

Agent Young had warned them that the tape was going to be hard to watch, and of course she'd known what was going to be on it, she wasn't naïve and the files from the other victims had spelled it out in graphic detail. However, sitting and watching it, listening to it, had been one of the hardest things she'd ever done. When it had started the words "Day One" had appeared on the screen, and then it had cut to Dutch hanging unmoving, his arms tied above his head, his ankles tied to metal rings set into the floor, he appeared to be unconscious. Then he'd began to come around slowly stirring, moaning softly he'd lifted his head, which had been resting on his chest, and it became clear he'd been blindfolded. He' d appeared to be groggy, which tied into the forensic report which had identified the contents of the small bottle on Dutch's bedroom floor as chloroform, and he'd struggled to get his feet under him. As he'd become more aware of his situation Dutch had begun to pull on the ropes which tied him, his breathing becoming more and more frantic. Then a sound off camera someone else was in the room, from his reaction it was obvious that Dutch realised this to. He'd tried to talk to his kidnapper, but the bastard had not said a word. Claudette had been able to see Dutch trying to calm himself, she knew her partner, knew that he'd be trying to think his way out of this situation. Then Collins had walked into shot, walked right up to Dutch and touched him, Dutch had started back as if burnt and Claudette had wanted to grab that bastard and throw him across the room, anything to get him away from her partner. However, Collins hadn't stopped there, he had let his hand roam all over Dutch's body while Dutch's distress had escalated. When he'd slipped his hand down the front of Dutch's shorts Claudette had felt her stomach roll, but she swallowed her nausea down this had to be done, endured and as bad as this was she knew it was rapidly beginning to get worse. It had been so difficult listening to the fear in Dutch's voice as he'd asked that monster to stop. When Collins had produced a knife Claudette had felt the fear for Dutch within her blaze. As he'd cut Dutch's clothes away Claudette had had to look away, she had to wrestle with the overwhelming feeling that to look would be an invasion of Dutch's privacy, she knew it was ridiculous but she also knew how mortified Dutch would be at the thought of her seeing him like this. When the screen had gone blank she released the breath she hadn't even been aware she'd been holding. She wasn't the only one she could hear Vic and Aceveda both stirring in their seats, assuming like her that that was it. However, to her horror the screen flickered to life again and she'd forced herself to watch the rest.

When Collins had tied Dutch down over the table she'd known this was it. Up until then Claudette had held onto the hope that they would be able to spare Dutch this, that somehow through some miracle, they would find him before Collins had touched him sexually. She'd glanced sideways at Vic when she heard him mutter,

"Oh shit no,"

He sensed the movement and turned towards her his eyes full of regret and sympathy. The sound of Dutch's sobs drew her attention back to the screen, as she watched Collins touching him, violating him, telling him that he loved him ignoring Dutch's cries she felt hate like she'd never felt for another human being before. When Dutch had screamed as that sick pervert had raped him Claudette had wished she could be in that room with a gun in her hand and blow that bastard away. As she'd listened to Dutch's trembling voice whispering over and over again,

"This isn't happening, this isn't real…"

Claudette had felt her heart breaking.

The second rape was as horrific as the first, the beating that proceeded it had been brutal Claudette had felt herself flinch in her seat as the sound of each blow from that belt had reverberated as loudly as a gunshot around the room. It had seemed as if Collins was never going to stop the welts covering Dutch's body from his shoulders to his knees, red and angry some bleeding. When he'd finished the beating it was obvious that inflicting pain on Dutch had just excited the sick bastard, and he'd wasted no time brutalizing him again. Dutch hadn't moved except in a passive sense when his body had been driven by Collins' thrusts, even the small grunts he made with each lunge seemed to be involuntary, this lack of response worried Claudette. The physical damage being inflicted on her partner was glaringly obvious for anyone to see, what wasn't so obvious was the psychological damage. As she'd once told Dutch and Aceveda her first few years on the force had been spent getting statements from rape victims, and she'd seen the devastation these atrocities had on their victims first hand. She couldn't bear to think of all this being visited on her partner, her friend. When he'd satisfied himself Collins had cut Dutch free from the table and he'd slid unresisting to the floor, before the picture had faded to black they saw him curling up as tightly as he could, and had heard his soft sobbing.

Suddenly a picture of the full moon filled the screen and then another picture of a tool of some kind. These had been the clues that the FBI agents had been talking about, but right then Claudette had just needed to escape that room. It had felt as if the walls were closing in on her and it was hot, stuffy. She quickly rose to her feet,

"Excuse me," She'd managed to mumble before moving towards the door, trying her best not to just push everyone out of her way in her need to escape. Suddenly cooler air hit her face as she passed through the door and made a beeline for the restroom. She'd only just made it to a stall as she gave into the nausea that consumed her. 

A familiar voice startled her out of her remembrances,

"How are you holding up?" 

Looking up she saw Vic Mackey.

"I'll survive," she replied with a grimace. She stood up and stretched. She studied Vic for a moment; he looked as tired as she felt. Of course she had known that for a fellow officer Vic would do his best, they were all a family in a way, and while you might not necessarily get on with your family members when any of them needed help you were there. However, what had surprised her was the support he had been offering her in his own quiet way, they had had their differences but she would always appreciate how he had been there for her now.

"So any thoughts about these so called clues," She asked him.

"It's all a load of bullshit, sitting here playing his warped games. We should be out on the streets tracking this prick down not trying to figure out what the moon has to do with a wood plane for Christ's sake." Was his frustrated reply. 

Claudette could understand his frustration; she shared it wanting to be actively doing something to find Dutch, but they had few leads so far. At least they'd found the house where this pervert had been holed up; a letting agent had recognised Collins' picture, as had several of his neighbours. He'd rented the house five months ago, always paid his rent on time and kept to himself. Forensics were tearing the place apart, hoping to find the elusive clue which could led to a break through, the clue they needed to pin point Dutch's location. The first tape had served to confirm Collins as Dutch's abductor his face plainly visible on it. This had surprised Young and Alvarez because he had always worn a mask in the tapes of his other victims. Either he no longer cared to keep his identity a secret or he knew they were on to him.

"Yeah well right now we don't have a lot of choice do we?" Claudette said.

"I know, I know but its just watching that damn tape and knowing that animal's still got Dutchboy, it's just…" Vic's voice petered out.

"Believe me I understand." Claudette assured him, briefly laying her hand on his arm.

She felt him stiffen as his gaze locked onto something over her shoulder, turning Claudette saw Agent Young approaching with the second tape in his hand. 

"Forensics have cleared this one, and the labs are still analysing the contents of the first tape. If you're ready we can look at this one now."

"Let's get it over with," Claudette murmured, wishing she could be anywhere else right now rather than approaching that damned room.

Alvarez, Aceveda, Wallace and Jim Ryde were already seated, their faces tense. Without further ado Agent Young put the tape into the video and pressed play. The words "Day Two" appeared followed by the room from the first tape. It was brick built and looked old with stone walls and floor. The only furniture were the heavy wooden table they had seen yesterday and a metal framed bed they had caught a glimpse of as the camera perspective had been changed when Dutch had been forced over to the table. Light was streaming in from windows set high in the wall, no discernable view outside visible. Dutch was still curled up on the floor on his side, his knees up to his chest and his arms wrapped around himself, no doubt trying to keep warm as it had been cool last night. A figure moved into the shot moving stealthily, trying not to awaken the sleeping man. With a speed, which belied his heavy build, Collins was on top of Dutch pinning him down on the floor before he could move. Claudette felt her insides turn to ice as she recognised what he had in his hand, a syringe. What twisted game was he going to play now, what was in that syringe, Claudette felt her fingers digging into the arms of her chair, tension building within her. Dutch cried out in shock, pain and fear as the contents of the syringe were emptied into his bloodstream. Collins was speaking to him, and they could here the word "morphine" mentioned, which wasn't good but it could have been a lot worse Claudette knew. Dutch had gone limp as the drug had raced through his veins and Collins had bent down, grunting with effort as he picked an unresisting Dutch up from the cold floor and moved him over to the bed. After securing his arms above his head with rope to the metal bars at the head of the bed, Collins proceeded to wash Dutch his hands lingering over his body, making Claudette's trigger finger itch. When Collins inserted his finger into Dutch's rectum the smile on his face made everyone in the room want to retch, they were only glad that at least Dutch seemed to be totally oblivious to it all in a drugged stupor. Watching Collins undress Claudette tried to steel herself for what ever was going to happen next, somehow raping an unconscious man didn't seem to be the sort of thing that would provide him with enough sick enjoyment. It quickly became evident that she was right when he began to touch Dutch, caress him, manipulating him into responding when he was completely vulnerable, unable to control his responses because of the morphine clouding his mind. When Dutch had tried to break away, when he had tried to ask Collins to stop, he'd simply doubled his efforts bringing Dutch to completion against his will.

The poisonous words Collins spoke calling Dutch a slut, implying he'd somehow been compliant in this outrage had infuriated Claudette, but it was his next action which made tears well up in her eyes. He callously wiped Dutch's own cum over his face and it was plain that he loved doing it, he rejoiced in his cruelty. Dutch was completely frozen, hardly even breathing his face awash with emotions, guilt, despair, horror, and revulsion. Of course Collins wasn't finished there, no he moved between Dutch's legs and proceeded to rape the unresponsive man, while Dutch closed his eyes and silent tears poured down his face.

After he'd finished Collins had injected Dutch again and left him. The next thing to appear on the screen was a glass full of half melted ice cubes, Claudette supposed it to be the next cryptic clue, but at that moment her mind was so full of horror at what she had just witnessed she couldn't focus on that now.

"Fuck, that sick prick needs to die," Mackey muttered between clenched teeth, his entire body seething with anger.

"I'm sorry I know this is really difficult, but we need to get this tape to the lab for in-depth analysis, and then we need to sit down and try and piece together something from these clues." Alvarez said.

While everyone moved around her Claudette tried to steady herself, she knew that Aceveda was looking at her with concern,

"Waiting for me to crack up," Claudette though bitterly. Then she chided herself that was unfair the Captain was just worried about Dutch too. The FBI agents had all filed out of the room leaving the three of them alone for the moment. Without looking up Claudette vocalized a major concern they all shared,

"Jesus, when we do get him back, just what state is his mind going to be in?"

"We'll all be here for him Claudette," Aceveda assured her, "The department has its own team for dealing with psychological trauma you know that. He'll get the best help there is, I promise."

"First we have to find him, and the sooner the better." Vic said emphatically.

"Well then lets get started with this clue trail, and check in with forensics at that house Collins rented." Claudette said as she moved towards the door determined to move heaven and earth to get Dutch back safe where he belonged.


	11. Night Chapter 11

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Chapter 11.

Dutch had finally finished being sick, or to be more accurate dry urging since he had nothing left in his stomach to bring up, he hadn't eaten in two days and had had nothing to drink either. His throat felt sore and dry and the headache, which was flaring behind his eyes, seemed to be building in intensity. The morphine, which had been in his system, was definitely dissipating, he was becoming more aware of the different areas of pain on his body. His wrists were rubbed raw from the constant chaffing caused when he struggled to get free, and his back was one huge source of discomfort, he'd managed to turn onto his side and stay there in an effort to relieve the pressure on the welts. Of course there was one other source of pain that he tried his best to ignore, the constant throbbing in his backside and lower abdomen. He wouldn't think about that and he pulled on the ropes securing his wrists to the bed, the intense pain caused to his abused flesh by the rough hemp of the rope sublimating all the other pains in his body, taking his mind away from their source. God, how long had he been here he wondered, at least two days, but the time he'd lost while drugged confused him. This could be day three or even day four depending on how much morphine he'd been given and how long he'd been unconscious. He didn't want to contemplate the thought that this was still day two, he didn't want to think about the events that had taken place on that day. Dutch felt the familiar feelings of guilt and shame and bit his lip to stop the tears that had welled in his eyes from falling. Taking a deep, steadying breath he tried to think logically about his situation. He was pretty sure he knew who'd abducted him, it had to be The Stalker the MO was a perfect fit and he'd been keeping up with the cases as best as he could, funny he'd never considered that he might end up being a case study himself one day. No, he couldn't think like that no matter what he couldn't give up. Dutch knew that Claudette would stop at nothing to find him, and he had often thought while he'd watched her work that he wouldn't like to be on the receiving end of that determination, intellect and insight if he was a criminal. She'd find him, rescue him he just had to hold on and keep faith.

He felt his heart start in his chest when the door to the room opened and the monster who'd kidnapped him came in. Dutch got his first proper, drug free, look at him and felt himself shrink away from him as far as his bonds would allow. He was in his forties Dutch guessed, tall and muscular, but it was his face which made fear coil in Dutch's gut, it was cold, cruel Dutch knew that this man didn't know the meaning of the word mercy. It sounded cliched but Dutch felt he was staring into the face of evil.

"Good your awake at last, time to clean you up a bit, and perhaps a shave hmm?" The man said with a smile.

"You won't get away with this you know. You can't kidnap a police officer and get away with it, the whole force is going to be looking for me, the FBI too." Dutch knew this was useless, but felt he had to try and reason with this animal.

"Now, now don't be silly, I know your not stupid Holland so why are you acting as if you don't know who I am. You know perfectly well that the police aren't going to catch me, they haven't yet, so what makes you think you're colleagues are going to fare any better than those in the past." He spoke to Dutch as if he was explaining the obvious to a rather slow child. 

Dutch had tried to not start when the man had called him by his given name, the last person to do that had been Lucy, his ex-wife. Then again he remembered from the cases he'd studied that this predator liked to observe his victims for months before he took them, Dutch shuddered at the thought of this person watching him without his knowledge.

"You know my name, what's yours?" Dutch asked, maybe if he could set up a dialogue he could buy himself some time, if not in the long run at least it might put off being touched for a little while, as he saw the bowl and towel the man was carrying. 

"Of course, I'm Simon and you belong to me now." Simon said as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Moving forward he placed the bowl of clean water on the floor and began to soap the wash cloth that was in there.

Dutch was frantic he couldn't bear the thought of Simon's hands on him, he had to keep him talking.

"Wait, look you've got no right to do this, you've got no right to hold me against my will. I don't want to be here, I want to go home. I'm a human being and you can't treat me this way!" Dutch could hear his voice rising in pitch as his fear began to surge through him.

The stinging slap across his face stunned him and he immediately felt blood in his mouth where his teeth had sliced into his lip from the blow. Dutch looked up to see Simon, his face seething with anger standing over him.

"You belong to me now, you have no rights except those I allow you and you'd better learn that quickly boy, or else you're going to find yourself in a whole world of pain." Simon punctuated this threat with another stinging slap which left Dutch's ears ringing from the power of the blow.

As suddenly as the rage appeared it seemed to disappear and Simon retrieved the wash cloth and used it to wipe over Dutch's sore face. As he moved the cloth downwards the paralysis caused by the shock of the assault left Dutch's body and he tried to move away from Simon's touch. 

"Please don't…don't touch me," He whimpered, the feeling of those hands on his body sending his mind into a turmoil of terror.

Simon's touch became rough as he grabbed Dutch's arm making him cry out in pain.

"I'm starting to think I over-estimated your intelligence boy," Simon hissed. "Now lie still and keep quiet." Simon emphasised his point by pulling Dutch's arm forward so it placed a strain on the ropes tied around his wrists, the pain was excruciating not only on his torn wrists, but also on the joints which were being pulled apart. With tears in his eyes Dutch nodded his acquiescence to his torturer. Simon released Dutch's arm and continued to clean his body, Dutch closed his eyes and tried to will himself away in his mind, but that poisonous touch was insidious and wouldn't allow him escape.

"Good now let me shave you and then I'll clean up this mess you've made on the floor." Simon said glancing at the small pool of vomit and bile which was by the bed. "If you behave I'll let you have some water, I bet your thirsty hmm?" He asked Dutch.

"Yes please," Dutch replied, deciding that for now it was probably best not to annoy Simon if at all possible. The man was obviously unstable, his temper volatile and severe and although Dutch knew from his research that he kept his prisoners alive for seven days, he didn't want to push his luck, he had to stay alive and give Claudette the time she needed to find him. Simon had produced an electric razor but before he used it Dutch realised he needed to know how much time he had,

"How long have I been here?" He asked dreading the answer, earlier he'd hoped that days had gone past while he'd been unconscious but now he knew that time was precious and it was running out.

"This is the third day," Simon replied with a smile. "Don't worry we still have plenty of time together and I've got lots of special things planned for us to share."

Dutch said nothing in reply but shuddered at this last statement as his imagination conjured up just what those "…special things…" could be. 

Soon Simon was finished and left to get Dutch the promised drink. Dutch licked his lips in anticipation for the first time realizing how thirsty he was, and hungry to he acknowledged as his stomach rumbled. Although the thought of eating also made him feel queasy Dutch knew he should keep his strength up, what if an opportunity to escape should present itself and he was too weakened by hunger to be able to successfully manage to get away. So when Simon quickly returned with just a bottle of water Dutch forced himself to ask for something to eat, even though it grated on him to have to ask this pervert for anything.

"Oh don't worry you'll get something to eat soon I promise, but for now just drink the water up." Simon beamed at him, making Dutch feel distinctly uncomfortable.

Little by little Simon poured the water into Dutch's mouth smiling at him all the while. The water felt so good, it was cool and soothing on his throat and as he re-hydrated he began to feel his ever-present headache tone down to a more bearable level. All to soon the bottle was empty, Dutch had to clamp his mouth shut to prevent a moan of disappointment from escaping. Putting the empty bottle down Simon pulled a small bag towards him, Dutch frowned he had been so focused on the water that he hadn't noticed it before. Dutch felt his eyes go wide at the three objects Simon pulled out from it, a knife, handcuffs and a gun, he knew that the handcuffs and gun were both his Simon must have taken them from his home when he'd kidnapped him. Pointing the gun at his head Simon told him,

"I'm going to untie your hands and your going to stand up, now if you try anything I won't hesitate to shoot you, you believe me don't you Holland?"

Dutch stammered, "Y…yes." His mouth suddenly dry again.

Simon moved behind the bed and cut the rope around his wrists, Dutch slowly pulled his arms down to his sides and hesitantly moved his right hand over to cover his genitals. Simon laughed at the gesture and Dutch felt his face burning with embarrassment. He hadn't meant to do that he had wanted Simon to think he wasn't bothered by his nakedness, he hadn't wanted to provide him with any more ammunition that could be used against him, but it had been an instinctive reaction.

"Come on now get up, and don't forget I've got a gun on you." Simon ordered.

Slowly, wincing in pain Dutch pushed himself up and stood by the bed.

"Good boy," Simon praised. "Now take four steps forward…slowly."

Dutch did as he was told and felt himself stiffen when Simon moved in behind him and pressed the gun to the back of his head.

"Slowly bring your right hand behind your back, no sudden moves or I'll put an extra hole in your head, understand?"

Dutch nodded and did as he was told; he felt the cold steel circle his wrist as the handcuff was snapped into place.

"Now your left hand behind your back," he was instructed.

Seeing no other choice Dutch obeyed the order and found himself bound by his own handcuffs. Simon pushed the gun barrel into the base of Dutch's skull and placed his other hand on his shoulder, pushing down on it.

"Kneel," he commanded. 

Not having any choice Dutch sank to his knees, the cold, hard stone floor feeling unforgiving under him. Simon moved around to stand in front of him, Dutch kept his eyes looking down, staring at Simon's shoes, he didn't want to look up at that cruel face afraid of what he'd see there. With his free hand Simon reached down and grabbed a fist full of Dutch's hair pulling on it,

"Look up, look at me," He told Dutch.

Dutch looked up at Simon and fear flared within him when he saw the lust in the cold, blue eyes that looked down at him. Simon still pointed the gun at him but he moved his other hand down from his hair, stroking it down over the side if Dutch's face that he'd struck earlier. Although he kept his touch gentle it stung a little as his hand brushed over the area, Simon watched his own hand moving over Dutch's face as if mesmerized. He stopped and brushed his thumb over the cut in Dutch's lip, which was slightly swollen, where he'd accidentally bitten it when struck.

"Your skin bruises beautifully you know," Simon whispered.

Dutch pulled his head back, away from that polluting touch. He held his breath for a moment worried Simon might lose his temper again and retaliate, but he only laughed softly.

"Now Holland here's what's going to happen now." Simon told him. "I'm going to fuck that pretty mouth of yours, and your going to let me."

"Jesus no way," Dutch stated emphatically, his stomach rolling at the thought.

"Fine," Simon unexpectedly said. Dutch immediately knew he had something up his sleeve, there was no way Simon would take his rejection this well unless it was all part of a game he was playing.

"I'm not going to force you," Simon told him. "If your answer's no then I'll tie you back up on the bed and leave."

"Good the fucking answer's no then!" Dutch told him.

"Alright then when I've done that I'll think I'll go and pay a little visit to Officer Sofer." Simon smiled down at him.

Dutch felt his heart constrict in his chest,

"God no, what do you mean?" He asked confused by this new threat.

"It's simple, I want a blow job and if you won't agree to give it to me I'll find someone who will." Simon told a shocked Dutch. "I'm sure I could persuade Officer Sofer, Danny isn't it, to accompany me back here and then we can all have some fun, hmm. If I pointed a gun to your head do you think she'd blow me, to save your life? I think she would you know, I think she'd open her mouth and take it like a good little girl, don't you. I tell you what," he continued. "I bet if I asked her real nicely she'd do you too, would you like that. After all I know you like being sucked off don't you Holland, you certainly enjoyed it when I did it to you, and I know you like her don't you. Have you thought about it? When you've jerked off in the shower have you been thinking about her, on her knees, your cock in her mouth?"

Dutch couldn't answer, he felt sick and guilty because God forgive him he had fantasized about that once or twice, Jesus. 

"Lost for words eh," Simon chuckled. He carried on, "When she's done us both you can watch while I use your gun to blow her head off. Or maybe it's not the beautiful Officer Sofer who does it for you Holland. Maybe you have a thing for older women? Would you prefer it if I brought Claudette for us to play with? Have you got a little something other than just feelings of friendship for her? I bet she'd cooperate to save your life wouldn't she, after all you're her partner."

"STOP!" Dutch shouted, unable to listen to any more of these perversions. "Don't…please don't hurt them, don't hurt anyone else." He took a shuddering breath and lowered his gaze. "I'll do what you want, just don't hurt them."

"Good boy, I knew you'd be sensible when you'd thought about it, and it's better this way. We don't want them here with us, we don't need anyone else." Simon cooed, stroking the gun barrel down over Dutch's face, rubbing it over his lips, pushing it between his lips, the cold metal bumping against his teeth.

"How'd you like to be shot with your own gun?" He asked. "Have you thought about it Holland, have you ever thought about putting your gun against your head and pulling the trigger?"

Dutch shook his head.

"Oh, not even when that bitch of a wife of yours left you, cause I bet that hurt didn't it. Not only left you for someone else, but she was even carrying another man's child." Simon gloated.

Dutch felt tears well in his eyes at the pain of that memory. She'd told him when he'd come home from work, her bags already packed. He was a detective and he'd had no idea, how pathetic was that. He had called in sick the next day and had spent it drinking, drowning his sorrows. Later that night he'd spent an hour sitting in his living room staring at his loaded gun as it had sat on the coffee table in front of him. Eventually he'd picked it up unloaded it and gone to bed, his decision made. He became aware of Simon's eyes on him studying him, smirking.

Looking back up at Simon he braced himself for what was to come, knowing he had no choice.

"Here's the thing," Simon explained removing the gun from Dutch's mouth. "You have to ask me."

"What?" Dutch asked confused.

"You have to ask me. I want you to ask me to be allowed to suck my cock. You're going to say, "Simon please let me suck your cock." Understand?" Simon told him.

Dutch felt sick, but he nodded.

"Good," Simon said. "I'm waiting."

Dutch tried, he really tried but he couldn't get his mouth to work he couldn't say the words.

"I can't, I can't…please don't make me do that…please." Dutch begged him.

"Ask," Simon repeated. "Ask or I'll go and find someone else who will."

Knowing it was hopeless Dutch forced himself to speak,

"S…Simon… please let…me…" He faltered.

"All of it, come on I'm getting impatient." Simon told him.

Taking a breath, trying to ignore the tears which spilled from his eyes, the burning shame he felt Dutch tried again,

"Simon please…let me…suck your cock." 

"There that wasn't so hard now was it, and seeing as you asked so nicely how could I refuse." Simon laughed.

He reached down unzipped his trousers and pulled his erection free. He pressed the gun barrel against Dutch's temple and pushed his erection against his lips.

"Now open up like a good boy and if I feel any teeth I'll kill you."

Dutch squeezed his eyes shut, the musky smell of the other man filling his nostrils, the feel of his penis against his mouth revolting him.

The gun was shoved into his head hard,

"Open your eyes and you keep them open, look up at my face boy." Simon grunted.

Dutch looked up and opened his mouth, choking as Simon shoved himself deep into his mouth immediately. The hard penis hit the back of his throat making him gag, he tried to back away but Simon grabbed his hair holding him in place, not letting him escape. Dutch felt Simon pull back and tried to pull in a breath, but Simon pushed back in before he could. He could hear Simon groaning in pleasure as he raped his mouth, his erection pounding into the back of his throat, making him gag, suffocating him. Dutch felt his vision beginning to darken around the edges, Simon's sadistic face flushed with lust and pleasure beginning to fade in and out. Suddenly he felt his mouth fill with Simon's cum, he couldn't breathe his body automatically trying to clear his airway swallowed the foul liquid. Dutch felt it sliding down his throat bitter and slimy. Then the obstruction was gone from his mouth, he gulped in as much oxygen as he could, coughing, then urging and finally vomiting. All the while Simon was laughing at him,

"I thought you said you were hungry. I give you some protein and this is the thanks I get."

Dutch couldn't answer, he was too busy just trying to breathe, trying to keep his sanity.


	12. Night Chapter 12

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Chapter 12.

Simon leaned back basking in the early afternoon sunshine, he felt good, he'd just had a very enjoyable lunch and before that some very enjoyable sex. The look of shock on Holland's face when he'd threatened to bring one of those women here had been priceless. Of course it had been an empty threat, Simon couldn't risk getting caught, not yet, his time with Holland hadn't been concluded satisfactorily, and besides he didn't want anyone else here intruding upon their relationship. However, Holland hadn't known that and the threat had had the desired effect, just as Simon had known it would, it had taken away Holland's ability to resist him, and so it had taken away his power and given it to Simon. Simon turned his face towards the sun, closing his eyes and pictured Holland's face when he'd been in front of him, on his knees, looking up at him. He had looked so unhappy, despair in every aspect of his expression, the bruises where Simon had slapped him standing out their colour deepening, the cut in his lip slightly swollen, his eyes full of unshed tears. God, Simon was sure he'd never seen anything so beautiful in his life. When he'd thrust his erection past those parted lips he'd lost control, frantically fucking the warm, wet, unwilling mouth in front of him. That sensation combined with the visual stimulation of gazing directly into those inconsolable eyes had meant Simon's climax had arrived a little too quickly, but never mind there was this afternoon to look forward to. He stretched lazily and got up, turning he went back indoors. He looked at the monitor to check what Holland was up to, Simon had left him still kneeling with his arms handcuffed behind his back by the bed but now he saw he'd moved. He was sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest in a corner of the room his head resting on his knees, face hidden from Simon's view. Simon undressed and gathered up the gun and a small bottle from the table, with a last glance to make sure he knew exactly where Holland was before he entered the room; he prepared himself for a thoroughly enjoyable afternoon.

Simon entered the room with the gun ready, Holland raised his face from his knees and regarded him warily.

"Get up and come over here," Simon ordered him.

"No…no…keep away from me…can't you just leave me alone," Holland sobbed. "Why me…why did you pick me… what have I ever done to you?"

Sighing Simon said, "I didn't pick you, you picked me you know that. Now enough of this and do as your told, come here."

Holland just stared at him as if he was insane, his eyes wide with fright and incomprehension. Losing his temper Simon jerked the gun upwards and fired. Pieces of brick exploded from the wall several feet above Holland's head making him duck.

"Don't make me tell you again boy." Simon told him, pointing the gun back at him.

Reluctantly Holland rose to his feet and moved forward, stopping a couple of feet in front of Simon. Moving back a little Simon waved the gun in the direction of the wooden table,

"Over there," he instructed.

Holland looked over to the table shaking his head,

"No…please don't I…" he said his voice quavering.

Simon moved quickly behind Holland pressing the gun against the back of his head, his other hand pushing him forward towards the table. However unwilling he was to move Simon's superior strength left him with no choice, and Simon soon had him pushed up against the table using his body weight to keep him pinned in place. Simon quickly transferred the gun to his left hand and clutched the bottle he'd brought with him in the right. He pushed the gun into the soft skin under Holland's left ear, and used his right arm to push Holland's head and shoulders down, bending him over. Simon could feel the body under him trembling uncontrollably, breath coming in panicked pants. He knew Holland was just in the right frame of mind for what he had planned. The first rapes had been necessary to show Holland his new life, to establish Simon's dominance over him. Then the little experiment with the morphine, he'd never tried drugs before on any of his chosen and he'd been happy with the results, Holland had reacted wonderfully his arousal intoxicating, his self-recrimination afterwards even better. Then this morning when Simon had used a threat to get him to perform sexually, now this, this would be the best yet when Simon showed Holland that he knew his body better that he knew it himself.

Carefully Simon eased the cap from the small bottle, the aroma of cinnamon immediately wafting into the air. It was a little clumsy doing this one handed but Simon didn't want to release his grip on the gun so it couldn't be helped. He carefully poured the spicy smelling oil out onto his fingers, coating them thoroughly and then put the bottle down on the table top at arms length away, he didn't want it to be knocked over, the contents spilled. Then very slowly and very gently Simon trailed his fingers down between Holland's buttocks, circling the puckered entrance to his body. Holland began to whimper his distress but Simon ignored him, his entire being concentrating on taking his time, restraining his lust, he had to go slow so that he didn't ruin this. Carefully Simon pushed one finger into Holland's body, the oil easing his entry despite the clenched muscles that tried to keep him out. Holland squirmed under him, small sounds of anguish escaping him, Simon pushed the gun barrel into Holland's neck even harder, leaving a bruise in the shape of a perfect circle there, but it had the desired effect and Holland stilled. Simon moved his finger gently in and out of Holland's body, gradually going deeper, Holland was tiring and the resistance from the clenched muscles began to lessen, Simon recognised it was time to move on,

"There's a good boy," he whispered to the terrified man. "You see it's not so hard is it, it's not so bad if you just relax I can make it so good for you, you'll see."

"No," Holland replied and Simon felt him trying to wriggle away from the invading finger, but he was trapped between the table and Simon's body with no escape.

"Sshh," Simon soothed.

Slowly Simon added a second finger to the first, moving them in and out and then scissoring them apart gradually stretching the muscles of Holland's ass. Simon's penis was painfully erect now, weeping pre-cum, how he wanted to replace his fingers with his cock and pounded into Holland, but he restrained himself, some patience now and he'd be rewarded. As the clenched muscles began to relax again Simon reached deep inside of Holland and found the prize he'd wanted. When he gently stroked the hidden spot inside of him he felt Holland start in surprise. He pressed home his advantage and stroked again and again,

"That's your prostate gland, it feels so good doesn't it when I touch it, stroke it with my finger. Wait until I rub my cock against it when I'm inside you, you're going to be begging me to fuck you." He explained.

"Stop it…Jesus stop it please," Holland begged. 

His voice told Simon one thing while his body was busy telling him something else. Ever so slightly Holland had pushed himself back onto Simon's hand his body craving more of his touch inside him, more of the pleasure that Simon knew was shooting intense feelings of ecstasy straight to Holland's groin, completely by-passing his brain. It was a purely biological response Simon knew but he also knew that Holland would be horrified at his body's betrayal. Soon Holland's sobs were interspersed by moans of pleasure; hunger, exhaustion and fear weakened him just as Simon had known they would and he could no longer fight the involuntary responses from his body. The time was here, Simon removed his fingers and quickly reached for the bottle pouring oil over his hand and liberally coating his erection, he groaned as his hand passed over the sensitive flesh. He reached underneath Holland and found the other man's erection there just as he'd known he would. He stroked his oiled hand along its length and slowly pushed himself into Holland's ass. Just as he'd planned the muscles had been well stretched, the stimulus from his fingers on Holland's prostate further relaxing them, still he paused part way in to allow the other man time to adjust to the invasion of his body. Then, in one smooth motion, he pressed himself forward and was soon encased in that tight, velvety heat he relished. He felt Holland's muscles clench around him the pressure intensifying his pleasure. However, he also felt Holland's erection beginning to flag and knew he had to press home his advantage. So he began to move his hand backwards and forwards over Holland's erection and he began to move gently inside him, taking care that he brushed against Holland's sweet spot with each thrust. Simon could hear Holland chanting,

"No, no, no, no…" over and over again his voice desolate.

However Holland was lost and he began to thrust back against Simon his body craving more of the friction, both deep inside of him and from Simon's hand. Simon grinned knowing he'd won, and that Holland had lost everything. He slowly, leisurely fucked Holland crooning to him,

"So good, you're so good, so hot, so tight. Oh fuck yes I knew you'd be so hot when you let yourself relax and enjoy it…Oh yeah baby you want it don't you… you like that hmm…you like having my cock up your ass don't you. You're a whore I knew it…you love me fucking you."

Simon felt Holland clamp tight around him as he climaxed, his cum spilling out hot on Simon's hand. Not having to be gentle anymore Simon moved his right hand to Holland's hip and he pounded into him, crying out as he to reached orgasm. He fell forward, resting against the unmoving man under him for a moment. Then Simon reluctantly moved back, pulling his now flaccid penis from Holland, damn he could bury himself in that sweet ass all day long, he thought with a satisfied smirk. He pulled Holland upright turning him around to face him. The misery, shame and humiliation were coming off of Holland in waves, his face was pale and tear streaked, his expression blank with shock. Simon smiled at him,

"It's no good crying now," he told Holland. "You just gave into your true nature, you can't help it if you're a whore, a dirty slut."

He pulled the unresisting man over to the bed, and using the remnants of the rope that he'd left there this morning he tied him to the bed by the handcuffs, his arms still pulled behind him. It would do for now Simon could come back later and tie him up properly, for now he had a tape to edit, whistling Simon left the room.


	13. Night Chapter 13

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Chapter 13.

Claudette stared up at her bedroom ceiling watching the first light of dawn creep across it. Turning her head she gazed at the pile of books balanced precariously on her bedside table, books about the psychological trauma suffered by victims of rape, how to survive it and how to help someone survive it. On her way home from The Barn she'd stopped at a book store and chosen every title she could find, despair welled up in her heart, she knew there weren't enough books written in the world which were going to make this situation any easier to handle. Collins was a sick bastard but he was also a master manipulator, he was destroying Dutch a little at a time, knowing exactly what to do to cause the most psychological damage. Yesterday had brought the third tape to be watched and although it hadn't seemed possible each tape was worse than the one before it. That Collins had made Dutch perform oral sex had been bad enough but he just had to go that little bit further, making Dutch have to ask to do it, this monster was a real piece of work. Claudette had felt terrible that Collins had used a threat against her to get Dutch to cooperate. She almost wished he'd tried to carry his threat out as there was nothing she would like better than to have the chance to blow that pervert's brains out alright, but not quite in the way he had in mind. It almost scared Claudette how much she wanted to get her hands on Collins just so she could exact her own kind of punishment on him for everything he was making her partner suffer. She had never been an advocate of vigilante justice but now she wasn't sure what her reaction would be if she found herself and Collins alone together. Then there had been the battle of wills between her and Aceveda, when Collins had threatened her and Danny he had begun talking about a 24-hour guard being brought in from Justice. There was no way Claudette was going to be saddled with that and she had refused point blank. Aceveda had only relented when the FBI had assured him that this threat was a standard one for Collins who had threatened the friends and family members of his previous victims to get them to cooperate in the same way. They had also reassured them that his next tactic was a standard one for him, all part of the twisted games he liked to play with his victim's psyche. That they'd also felt it necessary to explain that it really wasn't Dutch's fault that he'd responded to Collins' ministrations, that his response was purely physiological had incensed Claudette. However, it had been Vic who'd rounded on them in anger and had asked in a deadly tone if they really thought that anyone in that room thought that Dutch wanted to be raped, that he was enjoying it. A pissed off Vic Mackey was not a pleasant thing to be confronted with and the agents had paled slightly and sensibly kept silent after that, Claudette remembered the look of gratitude she had given him and the look of understanding she'd received in return.

Claudette gave up the pretense of trying to sleep, she had managed a couple of hours finally giving in to the demands of her exhausted body, and Vic's sensible advice that she'd be more help to Dutch if she was rested. However, those couple of hours had come at the price of horrific dreams, dreams where she could hear Dutch calling to her, begging her to help him but she had been unable to find him. She had finally woken with a cry when Dutch's bloody corpse had come to her asking over and over why she'd abandoned him, why she'd never come, why she'd let him die. Shuddering Claudette made her way towards her bathroom hoping that a shower would help to blow the cobwebs away from her tired brain. While she stood under the hot water she found the clues from the three tapes coming into her mind. There had been hours of discussion on the subject, most of it frustrating. There was the full moon from the first tape, and maps of Los Angeles and the surrounding area had come up with two possibilities so far, the Mount Wilson Observatory and the NASA Jet Propulsion Laboratory. These could also both be linked in with the wood plane which had been pictured, the observatory was situated in the Angeles National Forest, hence a woodworking theme, and the word plane could loosely be linked to jet. Or they could just be grasping at straws, desperate for a lead, any lead. Both of these areas were huge and difficult to search, they needed to narrow the search perimeters down considerably if they were to succeed, and they had to succeed. The glass of melting ice cubes was still a mystery, and in the third tape a picture of a huge dog with three heads had appeared part way through. So far forensics hadn't been a great help either, they had managed to tell them all the things which weren't present on the tapes as opposed to anything helpful which was on there. Analysis of the sound tracks of the tapes had shown no aircraft sounds so it was unlikely that they were near an airport, and there had been no traffic sounds either which meant that they were probably not in an urban area. Vic's only comment to this news had been,

"Well that narrows down the search."

Other than that it had been concluded that the building Dutch was being held in was old, probably late nineteenth century or early twentieth century, as if Claudette hadn't figured that out on her own. Finally, there had been the attempts at tracking Collins through his bank accounts. Here again he was at least ten steps ahead of them. He had his money split between different accounts both in the US and in offshore accounts, and he even had accounts set up in different names. It was a gigantic, confusing paper trail, Agent Young had assured them that they had their best people at the FBI tackling it, all they could do was wait for them to do their job.

While she'd been thinking Claudette found she'd been doing everything else on automatic and was just about ready to head back in to The Barn. She could only pray that today they would get the break they needed, today they would find the crucial piece of evidence they needed to find Dutch. She remembered his voice in her dreams calling for her to help him, calling to her to find him,

"I'm trying my hardest son," she whispered, "I'm gonna find you I promise."


	14. Night Chapter 14

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the character of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Night - Chapter 14. 

Dutch lay on the thin mattress of the double bed, his hands still pulled behind his back, shackled with his handcuffs which were in turn tied to the bedstead. The early morning air was cold, goose flesh stood out all over his body and he was shivering slightly. However, he didn't notice his physical discomfort, his eyes were open, staring into the distance not really seeing anything around him. He was lost in the depths of his own mind, plagued by memories, both recent and years old. He remembered lying in his bed as a child, his face turned towards the window looking at the stars and moons that decorated his curtains, listening to his father's voice coming to him out of the darkness. The voice telling him he was being a good boy, making daddy happy, the voice soft, whispering not harsh and yelling like it was in the daylight. His father's touch soft, stroking, not hard and hurting like it was so often at other times. Dutch had known even then that it had been wrong, those night-time visits from his father and he had dreaded them, but deep inside of himself a small part of the child there had not wanted them to stop, although it was wrong it was the only time his father showed him affection, the only time he felt wanted. As Dutch had gotten older his father's nocturnal visits had changed, no longer confined to mutual touches his father demanded more, things which caused physical pain, bruises and blood. He was no longer told that he was a good boy, instead he became a slut, a whore, it was all his fault, he was the one who made his father act this way, he was the one who led his father on and if anyone found out about it he would be the one they would punish, the one they would take away, he'd never see his mother again he'd be locked up. So he'd kept quiet never telling the secret, locking it away deep inside of himself where it festered in the dark. It only came to the fore during his nightmares and even those had lessened over the years, only occurring when he was working on certain cases, cases like Sally's. That had been difficult, the nightmares extreme and unremitting until they'd caught Sean the psychopath who'd robbed Sally of her life, if only they could have caught and punished all those who'd robbed her of her childhood. That had been the closest he'd ever come to sharing his secret with someone else, when he'd gone to Danny's house to apologize for his earlier outburst. He'd begun to explain how important the case was to him, how children like Sally, like he had once been, needed someone to stand up for them, someone to work for them, but he'd stopped himself in time before he'd told the secret shoving it deep down inside of himself again. Now he had a whole new set of memories to join those old ones thanks to Simon. He was so ashamed, so humiliated and the nagging doubt in his mind that his father had been right about him all those years before surfaced. Did he give out signals to others, make them think he would want this, was it his fault? There had to be something, why else would his father have treated him like that, why else would Simon have chosen him. Maybe they were both insightful; maybe they'd both seen something deep inside himself that he was blind to. After all look at how he'd behaved, how he'd responded to Simon. When he'd climaxed while high on the morphine he'd been given he'd tried to excuse his reaction to himself. It hadn't been his fault he'd been drugged, out of control. Then when he'd let Simon push himself into his mouth and he'd done nothing to stop him, he'd justified it by arguing he'd had no choice, the gun against his head, the treats against Danny and Claudette removing his ability to say no. However, what excuse could he use for this last time when he'd cum while Simon had been raping him, God could that even be called rape he wondered? Although he'd been saying no, although his mind had been screaming, he'd also been pushing himself back on Simon like a bitch in heat his body refusing to obey his brain, craving those intense, incredible sensations Simon had been creating inside of him. It was fitting that he'd reached his orgasm just as Simon had been calling him a whore because that was exactly what he felt like. He had might as well not bother fighting back anymore, if Simon wanted to fuck him he should just let him after all he could hardly be trying to protect his honour anymore, he didn't have any of that left. The intellectual part of his mind was trying to argue with this damning view of events. It was trying to remind him of the copious reading he'd done on the subject. The very things he'd reminded himself of when Simon had forced him to react when he'd been drugged. When a man was raped they sometimes became erect, they sometimes climaxed, it didn't mean they'd in any way enjoyed what had happened, it didn't mean they were secretly gay, it was a physiological response beyond their control. Dutch knew these things but they sounded hollow to him now, they weren't helping him wrestle with the huge burden of guilt and self-loathing he was feeling. 

As if from a long way away he heard the door to the room opening and knew that he was no longer alone, he shut his eyes tight trying to shut everything out. Dutch didn't want to see, hear, feel anything; he just wanted to be left alone, alone with his pain, his self-hatred. He knew Simon was there but he didn't want to respond to him, he couldn't bear to look at him, sure that Simon would instantly know everything that was going through his head, that he would know all of his secrets and use them against him. Dutch knew Simon would be gloating, enjoying his disgrace. He felt that hated touch on his arm as Simon turned him over onto his back, his arms and shoulders protested, pain shooting down to his finger tips but Dutch ignored it. He felt water on his lips and couldn't stop himself from opening his mouth and letting it in. Much too soon the water was gone and Dutch's eyes finally opened in response to the vicious blow to his face, the result of Simon's impatience at his lack of reaction.

"I said look at me when I'm talking to you!" Simon shouted at him. "It's no use wallowing in self-pity, now sit up."

Reluctantly Dutch obeyed swinging his feet onto the floor.

"I'm going to untie you, make you more comfortable. Just behave and you won't be punished." He was told.

Simon cut the rope attached to the bed and undid the handcuffs allowing Dutch to bring his hands around from behind his back. His shoulder muscles screamed in protest making him bite his lip to keep any sounds of pain from escaping from his mouth. Simon grabbed one of Dutch's wrists and tied it to some new rope which he'd secured to the head of the bed, Dutch didn't react he felt empty inside, passive. However, this changed for him when Simon reached out for his other hand, he laughed and said,

"What no more fighting, no more pretending you don't love everything I've done to you huh? Going to be a good boy for me now are you, bend over for me when I tell you to?"

Dutch felt anger, white hot, blazing anger course through him, consuming every other emotion in it's path, filling up every empty space inside him, the places that used to house his self-respect, his dignity, his soul. He was angry at himself, at his weakness, his inability to stop any of this from happening to him, but most of all he was angry at Simon, at his father for using him for there own perverted pleasure, for treating him like dirt, not caring how much they hurt him. He twisted his wrist out of Simon grasp and grabbed Simon's bare arm digging his nails in as hard as he could, scratching as deeply as he could wanting to rip his flesh from his bones, make him hurt, make him bled. He thrilled when he heard Simon scream in pain, and dug at his arm even harder desperate to hurt as much as he'd been hurt. Suddenly he was knocked sideways his head spinning from a punch to his temple, Dutch felt as though everything around him was moving; his vision grayed and then went black as he passed out. 

The shock of freezing cold water cascading over his face brought Dutch spluttering and choking back to consciousness.

"Get up you little bastard!" Simon screamed into his face. He was dragging on Dutch's arm pulling him off of the bed and onto the floor. Simon reached down and grabbed Dutch's hair in one hand; the other wrapped around the top of his right arm pulling him upright. Everything was spinning, Dutch's head pounding in pain from the blow he'd suffered earlier. He felt like one of those new-born calves he'd seen on the television once, trying to stand for the first time unable to coordinate their legs, slipping and sliding trying to gain their footing. Simon was half dragging him, half carrying him across the room towards the hated table. Dutch didn't know what he had planned but knew he didn't want to be part of it and began to struggle with him, trying to pull away. Simon merely tightened his grip and pulled harder,

"You can fight you little piece of shit! How dare you strike out at me, just who the fuck do you think you are. You're gonna pay, you're gonna wish you'd never been born when I'm through with you!" Simon screamed into Dutch's face. His face was incandescent with fury, flecks of spit being flung into Dutch's face with every yelled word.

Dutch felt himself shoved roughly into a hard wooden chair, he'd never noticed it before and guessed Simon must have brought it into the room while he had been unconscious. Simon quickly wrapped a rope around his chest and Dutch found himself bound to the chair unable to move. Simon pulled Dutch's hands up onto the table top and pulled a rope up from where he'd already attached it to the table legs, he pulled it over the top of Dutch's hands securing them to the table top. When Dutch had tried to pull his hands away to stop them being secured Simon had leaned forward putting his face directly into Dutch's face,

"Don't you dare move your hands away. If you do I'll get a hammer and nails and fucking nail them to the table top." Simon hissed.

Dutch had let Simon tie them into place, as he had no doubt that Simon wouldn't hesitate to go through with his threat. When he'd been secured Simon had taken several deep breaths obviously trying to calm his temper down, and get a grip on himself. He moved around in front of Dutch and told him,

"Now you're going to be punished. I thought you'd learnt you're place, I thought you'd realised that you're nothing, you exist only to service my needs. Well now I'm going to teach you a lesson, a lesson you're not going too fucking forget. After all the love I showed you, making our last time together good for you, this is how you repay me." Simon held out his newly bandaged arm for Dutch to see.

Dutch couldn't help himself; he'd looked up at Simon and said,

"Good I'm glad I hurt you you sick fuck, I wish I could fucking kill you." 

"Oh we'll see how tough you are, lashing out, threatening me, I'm going to make you beg, make you cry…you're gonna wish you were dead by the time I'm finished with you boy!" Simon threatened.

Dutch felt his blood run cold, although he felt that he'd snatched back a little of his self-respect when he'd lashed out at Simon he now wondered if the price he knew he'd have to pay would be too high. 

Simon reached down under the table and brought up something metallic in his hand. Dutch frowned unable to see properly what it was; Simon looked down at him grinning,

"Do you know what they do to animals who scratch their owners too much hmm? They de-claw them," as he spoke he held up a small pair of pliers in his right hand.

Dutch was confused, he didn't understand what Simon was babbling about until he pressed his left hand down on top of Dutch's right hand forcing his fingers out flat against the surface of the table. As Simon took hold of Dutch's thumb nail with the pliers and smiled at him Dutch felt his eyes grow wide with understanding, panic flared through him as he desperately tried to pull his hand free. It felt to Dutch as if Simon was tearing his whole finger off, not just ripping his nail out, the pain a red hot, sharp agony. He couldn't internalize the suffering he was experiencing, he opened his mouth and screamed, and while he did he heard Simon begin to laugh.

Simon had been right, Dutch had cried and screamed as he'd been tortured, and when Simon began to rip out the nails on his left hand he'd begun to beg as well. He begged for Simon to stop, apologizing for what he'd done, promising to behave, promising to be good. However, Simon didn't stop he just carried on slowly and methodically going from one finger to the next, all the time laughing at the torment he was causing.

When he ran out of fingers Simon was in a frenzy and he hurriedly cut Dutch's bonds and dragged him up pushing him face down over the table top, pushing him down into the blood that covered the surface. Dutch couldn't struggle, he couldn't think of anything but the pain from his hands. They felt as though they'd been dipped in acid, the pain all encompassing, throbbing in time to his racing heartbeat. Even the pain from Simon ramming himself into him just joined in with the symphony of torment his body had become. His throat was raw, screamed hoarse, yet he still managed to give voice to his pain crying out with each thrust into his body. Finally, he felt Simon tense and then empty his filth deep inside of him.

While he was still inside him Simon reached up and grabbed hold of Dutch's sweat soaked hair pulling his head up from the table top, leaning forward he slowly licked a path up the side of Dutch's face. Dutch squeezed his eyes shut and tried to hold on to his sanity, which he felt splinter into a thousand pieces when Simon leaned forward and whispered into his ear,

"Smile for the camera."

Dutch felt everything in him still at those words, denial tumbling from his lips in harsh whispers,

"No, no…you're lying…"

"Oh no I'm not…everything that we've shared with each other has been filmed, recorded from every angle by half a dozen hidden cameras in glorious Technicolor and in surround sound." Simon smirked. Looking into Dutch's forlorn eyes he added, "…and all of it has been sent to Claudette. I wonder if she's enjoyed watching them as much as we've enjoyed making them hmm? I wonder who else has seen them? What do you think, do you think they pity you or maybe you disgust them. After watching you whore yourself to me they probably aren't even looking for you any more… I mean why would they want a piece of filth like you back again."

Dutch's voice failed him, his denials falling silent on his lips. Although he'd felt despair at his situation before he'd always held onto the hope of rescue, he'd had faith that Claudette would find him and take him home, he wanted to survive. At Simon's words he felt cold and empty, he wanted it all to be over, he wanted to die. 


	15. Night Chapter 15

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Night – Chapter 15.

Simon felt great, relaxed and content, everything with Holland had been going along perfectly to his timetable, it really was amusing how easily he could manipulate people. Sensing weakness in others and exploiting it was a skill he'd enjoyed for as long as he could remember; it was like an instinct. It gave him power over others and Simon enjoyed power, he enjoyed breaking people. It was satisfying to take someone's sense of self and turn it on its head, to make someone doubt themselves, doubt everything they thought they knew about themselves, about the kind of person they were. He'd done this with all of those he'd chosen to share himself with, honing his skills with each new unwilling participant. So far he'd used nearly every trick in the book with Holland with the most delightful results, Simon knew that with one more little push Holland would be pitched into the abyss, totally broken. Today would be the day when Simon would give him that small push; he was going to tell him about the tapes. It was one thing to be used and humiliated in private, but to learn that it had all been witnessed by others that was going to be the information Simon knew Holland wouldn't be able to tolerate. Then to think that strangers had witnessed his downfall would be bad enough but to learn that the very people whose friendship and respect he craved had seen everything, that would do it Simon knew, that would break him.

First things first however he had promised Holland yesterday that he'd be back to release him from his handcuffs, but then he'd gotten caught up in other things and had forgotten. So first he'd uncuff him, then retie him to the bed, and then have him. When he entered the room Simon noticed that Holland was on his side with his back to him, he must be cold because he could see small tremors racking his frame. As he moved forward Simon spoke to the man on the bed,

"How are you this morning lover?" He smirked not surprised to receive no reply.

Simon sat on the edge of the bed and stroked his hand lightly down Holland's arm, his skin was icy and Simon could feel the goose flesh that covered it.

"Oh baby you're cold I think we'd better do something about that hmm. I bet you'd like me to warm you up wouldn't you, make you moan, make you cum just like yesterday?" Simon asked him, expecting Holland to stutter out a denial, to try to move away. However, much to his annoyance Holland didn't react at all. Leaning forward Simon could see Holland's face, he could see his eyes were closed, Holland was ignoring him and if there was one thing Simon hated it was to be ignored. None too gently Simon pulled Holland over onto his back so that he was lying on his cuffed hands, it had to hurt but still no reaction. His irritation growing Simon unscrewed the top of the water bottle he'd brought with him and nudged the open end against Holland's mouth tipping the contents over his lips. Holland opened his mouth eagerly drinking down the contents, Simon could see the flash of disappointment cross his features when the last of the water had gone, but still Holland didn't acknowledge him. 

"Come on now open your eyes and look at me." Simon demanded, his patience wearing thin. "It's no good pretending I'm not here."

Still nothing, well that wasn't good enough, Simon drew back his hand and slapped the uncooperative man a stinging blow across his face.

"I said look at me when I'm talking to you!" Simon shouted.

That had the desired effect and he found himself gazing down into a pair of dispirited eyes.

"It's no use wallowing in self-pity, now sit up." He instructed, intending on uncuffing Holland and retying him so that he was better positioned for Simon to have sex with him. Simon rather fancied making Holland lie on his back so that he could watch his face while he took him.

Simon tapped his foot in impatience as Holland slowly obeyed him sitting up and moving around so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed, his feet on the floor. Reaching forward he cut the rope tied to the handcuffs and then as he unlocked the cuffs themselves Simon explained,

"I'm going to untie you, make you more comfortable. Just behave and you won't be punished."

Simon watched as Holland slowly move his hands from behind his back. His wrists were raw, the skin broken and covered in dried blood where first rope and then the metal of the cuffs had cut into them when he'd struggled to free himself. Simon smiled enjoying the sight, the physical evidence of Holland's suffering. He'd tied some fresh rope to the head of the bed and reached forward grabbing one of Holland's wrists and deftly retying it with the rope noticed the lack of reaction again from the other man, he laughed and said,

"What no more fighting, no more pretending you don't love everything I've done to you huh? Going to be a good boy for me now are you, bend over for me when I tell you to?"

The reaction was immediate catching Simon completely by surprise. Holland wrenched his hand from Simon's grasp and reaching out grabbed onto Simon's forearm. With strength that shocked Simon Holland dug his finger nails into his arm, drawing blood. Simon saw Holland's face twisted in fury and cried out when he felt Holland's nails tearing into the flesh of his arm. His cry of pain seemed to spur Holland on and he dug in even harder, dragging his nails down over Simon's arm, they were like claws trying to rip his flesh from his arm. Simon was trying to pull his arm away from Holland's grip but it was useless, the more he pulled the tighter Holland gripped him. Desperate Simon made a fist with his other hand and he punched Holland as hard as he could on the side of his head, on his temple. At last the grip on his arm relented and Holland's eyes slid shut as he fell to his side on the bed unconscious.

Simon clasped his hand over the wound in his arm feeling his blood running down, dripping from his fingers. In his own quarters he braced himself as he put his arm under running water and watched his blood swirling down the plug hole. He winced in pain, as the wounds left by Holland's nails stung sharply, wrapping a towel around his arm he went to fetch his first aid kit. As he cleaned and dressed the wound Simon was busy trying to think of a suitable punishment for Holland, he was going to make him wish he'd never been born, he was going to crush him, show him no mercy. As he taped the bandage securely to his forearm he grinned realizing he'd thought of the perfect thing, he felt the stirring of arousal as he visualized what he was going to do.

When he was ready Simon returned to the room holding Holland bringing with him a chair and some other useful items he would need. A quick glance in Holland's direction showed that he hadn't moved and was still out for the count. Simon moved quickly getting things ready hardly able to contain his excitement or his growing anger at Holland's actions. When everything was in place he went over to the bed and untied Holland's wrist freeing him from the bed, then he poured cold water over the unconscious man watching as he came back to awareness coughing and spluttering. Leaning down until he was in Holland's face Simon screamed at him,

"Get up you little bastard!"

As Simon saw the confusion on Holland's face and felt the painful throbbing from his injured arm he became incandescent with rage, he felt it rise up within himself and he gave himself over to the power of it. He grabbed onto Holland's arm and dragged him from the bed, reaching down to grab his hair and haul him to his feet. Feeling himself growing angrier by the minute as Holland attempted to stand upright Simon dragged him across the room ignoring his feeble struggles. Simon screamed his anger into Holland's face and pushed him down into the chair quickly securing him in place. He pulled Holland's arms up onto the table and brought up the rope to secure his hands to the tabletop. As he did so Holland made to pull his hands away, 

"Don't you dare move your hands away. If you do I'll get a hammer and nails and fucking nail them to the tabletop." Simon warned him. Belatedly Simon regreted that he hadn't done just that and for a moment he considered going to see if he could find a hammer and nails, but no he wanted to get on with this, he wanted to start making Holland suffer. Holland seemed to realise that Simon was in earnest and stopped struggling, allowing his hands to be tied to the table. Simon noticed the open confusion on Holland's face, he didn't have a clue what was about to happen and Simon couldn't wait to see his face when he told him. Simon took a moment to calm himself down, sometimes he could get carried away in his rage and this time he wanted to relish every moment.

When Simon explained to Holland that he was going to be punished, that he'd been ungrateful considering the love Simon had shown him he watched as Holland straightened his shoulders and glared defiantly back at him, threatening him. Simon looked him in the eye as he promised him,

"Oh we'll see how tough you are, lashing out, threatening me, I'm going to make you beg, make you cry… you're gonna wish you were dead by the time I'm finished with you boy."

Simon was gratified to see Holland's face grow pale at this words and his expression lose its defiance becoming uncertain instead.

He didn't lose that uncertain look even when Simon showed him the pliers and told him,

"Do you know what they do to animals who scratch their owners too much? They de-claw them."

It was only when Simon pressed down on his hand splaying his fingers flat against the surface of the table and he gripped his thumbnail with the pliers, that realization dawned on him. Simon watched as Holland's eyes grew wide with understanding, his expression first unbelieving and then horrified.

As he began to pull steadily back with the pliers Simon never looked away from Holland's face, he wanted to see every nuance of expression, enjoy every pain filled, terror filled look and sound. He wasn't disappointed, for a moment there was resistance to his pull and then he felt the nail begin to rip away from Holland's hand and he thrilled as Holland screamed in agony, the smell of fresh blood assulting his nostrils. When he felt the nail tear away Simon looked down and saw it still clamped in the pliers ragged and bloody shreds of skin still attached to one end. Holland whimpered and Simon saw that he to was looking down at the gory sight, Holland felt Simon's eyes on him and pulled his gaze away from his hand, and looked at Simon. Simon laughed at the fear and pain he found there, he laughed at the tears that coursed down Holland's cheeks, revenge really was sweet he thought to himself as he moved onto the next finger. Holland's screams of pain were accompanied by Simon's laughter the entire time he ripped out each one of the nails on Holland's right hand. When Simon began to pull on the thumbnail of Holland's left hand Holland completely lost it. Simon smelt the sour tang of urine as fear and pain meant Holland lost control of his bladder, and then he began to beg just as Simon had promised him he would,

"N…no more please, please…I'm sorry, I'm s...s…sorry I won't do it again…I'll be good I promise…p…please…I'm sorry."

It sounded beautiful to Simon's ears, and instead of making him stop it just spurred him on, adding another level of enjoyment to the experience. When the last nail had been ripped free Simon needed to rid himself of all the pent up emotion he was feeling, the thrill, the excitement. He wasted no time in cutting Holland free and pulling him upright bending him over the table. Simon freed his erection and swiped his hand through the pool of blood on the table wiping it on his penis to be used as lubricant. There would be no consideration for Holland this time, no tenderness, this time Simon was punishing him not showing him love. Holland didn't struggle this time, but Simon heard his groan of pain joining his sobs as his rammed into him. Simon set a hard, punishing pace, frantically fucking the body under him as hard as he could. As he came it felt like heaven, he felt as if he were flying. While he was still buried deep inside Holland's body he leaned forward and licked a path up his face, relishing the taste of his sweat and tears, his misery and pain. Now the moment was here, the final act, the small push that would send Holland into the abyss. A cruel smile twisted Simon's face as he leant even closer and whispered into Holland's ear.

"Smile for the camera."

Simon felt the man under him still completely; he even held his breath until he breathed out his refusal to believe what he'd been told,

"No, no…you're lying."

Simon could tell that Holland didn't believe his own words of denial, he knew that Holland was trying to convince himself as much as anything. Simon slowly explained it all to Holland relishing every moment, he told him all about the tapes and how he had sent them to Claudette, he wondered who had watched them knowing he was echoing Holland's own thoughts. Finally, he asked Holland what he thought they thought of him after they had witnessed everything that had happened in that room, and how he had reacted to it all. Simon had to stop himself from crowing in delight when he saw the light inside Holland die. Simon knew that at that moment he'd broken him, he'd destroyed another human being's soul, and the power that gave him was intoxicating.

Simon pulled the unresisting man to the bed, he pushed him face down and tied his wrists to the head of the bedstead. Simon looked down taking in the battered and bloodied figure before him, Holland's fingers bleeding and swollen, blood and semen smeared, drying across his ass, the bitter smell of stale sweat and urine making Simon's nose wrinkle. Walking away Simon looked forward to tomorrow.


	16. Night Chapter 16

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Night – Chapter 16.

Claudette sat alone in the viewing room, the fourth tape having been watched the new clue noted, a very dramatic short film of lightening zig zagging across a night sky. That had provided the intermission in the tape, in between the heartening sight of Dutch fighting back and then the absolute horror of his torture at the hands of that animal Collins. When Collins had told Dutch about the tapes Claudette had seen her partner, her friend break and she was more afraid for him now then she had been since this nightmare had begun. What if he gave up, stopped fighting, stopped believing in his rescue, and stopped caring if he survived?

Claudette felt tears spilling down her cheeks and swept them away angrily. Her years on the force had taught her that emotions were seen as a weakness, it was a male dominated culture for one thing and as a woman you had to work so hard to prove yourself, to be accepted as an equal. Besides there was a certain logic to this hard attitude if you started to get emotionally caught up in your work as a police officer you would burn yourself out in a year, you either toughened up or got out. Still this wasn't just any case, this was Dutch and to have to watch everything that was happening to him and to be unable to do anything was a torture in itself. This damn game the twisted swine was playing wasn't helping it was so frustrating, the feeling that if they could just figure out these goddamn clues they could go and rescue Dutch, bring him home. The real irony was that the person who would have been able to figure the clue trail out would be Dutch himself, he had a knack of seeing connections where other people didn't, of getting from A to D by completely bypassing B and C. She remembered when he'd been interrogating Sean, Sally's killer, Dutch had told him that one of the reasons he'd become a cop was because he just liked solving puzzles, well here was one hell of a puzzle.

They still had two main areas which were the most likely areas referred to by the first tapes clues, that was the area in the vicinity of the NASA Jet Propulsion Laboratory and the Mount Wilson Observatory. The three headed dog was apparently called Cerberus and was the guardian of the entrance to Hades in Greek mythology, this came from Vic he'd been helping his daughter Cassidy with a school project on mythology and recognised it from there. Now lightening, Claudette thought about it, well it was meteorological and so perhaps tied in with the observatory. Shit, who was she trying to kid, she didn't have any idea what they meant. In fact she was coming around to Vic's way of thinking that this whole clue thing was just Collins' way of fucking with them, and the clues weren't clues at all just random bits of bullshit he was sending them so they'd be so busy chasing after them that he'd be able to get clean away after the time had run out for Dutch. Of course what choice did they have but to play his twisted little games, they had nothing else to go on. It was as if him and Dutch had fallen off the end of the world, there was nothing, not so much as a sniff of a sighting. Claudette felt despair welling up inside of her, she felt powerless and useless. She took a deep breath and tried to steady herself, if she started to think that way she would be of absolutely no use to Dutch. If you went into an investigation thinking that you were bound to fail it had a tendency to become a self-fulfilling prophecy, and she couldn't allow that to happen. No matter what she would not fail Dutch, she would find him and get him away from that monster, any other outcome was simply unacceptable. Still Claudette could feel that small kernel of doubt nagging at her mind, but she pushed it away knowing that if the unspeakable happened and they did fail Dutch, if she failed him, she wouldn't rest until she hunted Collins down and made him pay.

She turned as she heard the door opening,

"Coffee?" Vic offered holding out a cup to her.

Claudette nodded wearily reaching out accepting one of the two steaming cups she saw Vic was carrying. Everyone working on the case seemed to be fueled by really strong coffee, they didn't want to rest, to sleep knowing that the clock was continuing to tick down for Dutch.

"You look tired, have you thought about taking a break, trying to catch a few hours sleep?" Vic asked quietly.

Claudette turned to him observing his own haggard visage,

"Ever thought about taking your own advice?" She replied with a sad smile.

Vic shrugged taking a sip of the hot, bitter liquid in his cup,

"Yeah well you know I had a few hours yesterday but…" He didn't finish his sentence.

"Oh believe me I know," Claudette told him. "Bad dreams."

Vic nodded dropping his gaze to the floor. They sat quietly for a few minutes then Vic glanced at Claudette before looking away again,

"It's just I hate the waiting around," He finally said. "This bastard Collins has got us all swinging in the wind, playing his game his way, he's got us exactly where he wants us. Then I get to wondering what he's doing right at this moment while I'm sitting here drinking coffee, what's he doing to Dutch right now?"

"I know that thought haunts me too." Claudette told him, briefly reaching out squeezing his arm gently.

"I just feel so fucking useless, I need to be doing something, out chasing down leads all this trying to figure these obscure clues well it's more Dutchboys kind of thing." He sighed.

"You must be reading my mind," Claudette smiled. "I was just thinking that Dutch would have figured this all out by now, and he'd be wondering why everyone else was too dense to see something so obvious."

Vic laughed for a moment, but then sobered again. His eyes looked down to the floor again,

"How do you think he's holding up. It's just in that last tape when Collins told him about the cameras and the tapes, it's like something in him…well like something died."

"I know I saw it to, but Dutch is strong. I'm not being funny or anything but you don't know him like I do, he's strong and he can get through this, he will survive this." Claudette stated firmly, but it sounded a little hollow to her own ears, it sounded as if she was trying to convince herself as well as Vic. She just prayed that she was right. 


	17. Night Chapter 17

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Night – Chapter 17.

Dutch had actually managed to get a few hours sleep, his exhaustion finally overcoming the agony in his body. Before sleep had taken him, given him the illusion of peace, he remembered he'd been praying. He wasn't sure anymore if he really believed in God, at least not in a just and benevolent God, no his God must be the Old Testament God he decided, the vengeful, cruel God that wasn't popular in these politically correct days. He had to wonder though what he'd done to deserve to be punished like this, maybe the people who believed in re-incarnation were right, and he was being punished for something he'd done in a past life. He was here because of some huge case of cosmic karma; he must have been Genghis Kahn or Jack the Ripper or something then because he was certainly getting shit heaped on him in spades. Despite his lack of faith that God was listening to him anymore he still prayed, the words filling his head. Before tonight he'd prayed for Claudette to find him, he prayed to God to let her find a clue to his whereabouts, for her to whisk him away to hospital, clean sheets, warmth, safety and some really good drugs. Now his prayer had changed, and maybe it would be more to the taste of the wrathful deity that seemed to be in charge of his fate, he prayed for an end to his ordeal, but not rescue, now he prayed for death. It might seem a little melodramatic but he couldn't help it, he'd had enough. Here he was tied face down to the big iron bed his hands a throbbing agony competing with the pain in his lower back, blood and semen smeared across his buttocks and thighs, smelling of stale sweat, stale semen and stale urine. Christ as if he hadn't humiliated himself enough he had to go and wet himself. He wanted to cry, howl out his misery but he wasn't sure he had any tears left inside of him. He felt as though someone had ripped him open and scooped his insides out with a spoon, he felt empty inside. He wasn't really there anymore, Dutch Wagenbach was gone and a stranger had taken his place.

His thoughts turned to the tapes that Simon had told him about, he wondered who'd watched them. Probably Claudette, Aceveda, the FBI, maybe Jim Ryde the agent who'd helped him profile Sally's killer. He'd liked Agent Ryde, had felt a flare of pride when he'd complemented him on spotting the fact that a serial killer was on the loose. He'd wanted to gain this man's respect. What respect would there be if he'd seen those tapes? Maybe the whole precinct had seen them; Dutch visualized the scene, everyone sitting down with sodas and popcorn watching the next installment in the destruction of Detective Dutch Wagenbach. Would they laugh at him he wondered, maybe a couple of them would think he was getting what he deserved, that he needed to be taken down a peg or two. He knew some of his colleague's thought he was a snob that he thought he was better than they were. They didn't understand that he just didn't have people skills. He never seemed to fit in, always a step behind everyone else. Then there was small talk, which was a complete anathema to him; he just couldn't do small talk. When he tried he always ended up tripping up over his tongue, talking about banalities like the weather, sounding like an idiot, so he just kept quiet and then people thought he was being standoffish, a snob. So he tried to make up for his lack of social skills by throwing himself into his work. He knew that results would earn him respect, perhaps friendship, he didn't like feeling like the odd man out all the time. It was scary how accurate Sean had been in his analysis of him in the interrogation room, but hey maybe everyone could see it, maybe he was pathetically transparent, a needy whiner craving respect he'd never get. How could he ever be respected now, now that he'd become that monster's bitch, because he had to face it that was what he was? Jesus he'd cum while that bastard had been fucking him. He deserved everything that happened to him, he was weak and pathetic; a coward, because all he wanted to do now was to die, because he didn't have the courage to face anyone he'd known in his old life. 

He heard the sound he'd grown to loathe and fear, the door of the room opening, the key turning in the lock, the hinge which needed a little oil to stop it squeaking, and then he was back. Dutch buried his face in the mattress, wishing himself away from here. He heard Simon's footstep nearing the bed, then he spoke,

"Aw baby you're a mess, I think I need to clean you up don't you hmm. You'll feel better after a wash and a shave, maybe I'll wash your hair, would you like that." As he spoke he was busy untying Dutch's hands from the bed, he never paused, never waited for a response which suited Dutch so he just kept still and quiet. "If you're a good boy and don't give me any trouble I'll give you some water and maybe some medicine so you don't get sick. If you're especially good maybe I'll let you have some soup, would you like that, 'cause you know you've lost a couple of pounds while we've been together. Now just sit around and I'll take you over to where I'll clean you up, you smell a bit you know."

Dutch did as Simon told him, sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes on the stone floor in front of him, his shoulders slumped in defeat, he simply didn't care anymore. There was a pause and he could feel Simon's eyes on him, studying him, then he felt Simon's hand on his arm as he pulled him up, Dutch tensed for a moment at the hateful touch, but then relaxed, he was filthy and polluted now what did one more touch matter, what would one more fuck matter. He passively let Simon steer him over to the middle of the room and didn't protest when he tied his wrists with rope and pulled them up over his head, back in the place where he'd first awoken what seemed a lifetime ago. Simon didn't speak as he moved in and out of the room, bringing in a couple of bowls of water, towels, soap, shampoo and other odds and ends. Dutch had to admit it would be good not to have to smell himself anymore, Simon had been right he did stink. As he stood perfectly still he let Simon wash him; he didn't move only closing his eyes when Simon told him to when he washed his hair. The smell of sex and terror and pain being replaced by the smell of lemons and oranges and mint. 

"Open wide." Simon instructed and Dutch dutifully opened his mouth and let Simon brush his teeth. 

However, he did pause before opening it when Simon showed him a couple of tablets that he wanted him to take, but the promise of water to wash them down with had been too much of a temptation so he'd opened up and swallowed them down with a bottle of water.

"They're only antibiotics." Simon assured him, although Dutch didn't really care if they'd been cyanide at this point. 

He remained passive even when Simon leant forward and kissed him on the lips, his tongue forcing its way into his mouth exploring every nook and cranny, practically forcing it's way down his throat. He remained passive when Simon untied him and took him over to the bed and laid him down on his back. He remained passive when Simon tied his hands above his head again. He remained passive when the monster began to dirty him again, because he wasn't there anymore, he'd finally found his safe place, the place in his head where he could hide when the monsters came for him.

AUTHORS NOTE: - Just curious I was wondering if anyone is actually still reading this, because if not I've got other things to get on with?


	18. Night Chapter 18

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Night – Chapter 18.

Simon was very annoyed; Holland had managed to escape him not physically, but mentally. Yesterday when he'd gone into clean him up Holland had barely registered that he was in the room. He hadn't spoken to Simon; he hadn't looked at him. Oh he hadn't disobeyed Simon either he'd just quietly done what he was told, his head submissively bowed, eyes staring at the floor. Simon had paused to study Holland while he had been sitting on the edge of the bed and had made a mistake in his assessment of the situation. At that point he'd merely thought that Holland had broken and would now be his totally, his to shape, his to mould before the end, which was fast approaching. When he'd gripped Holland's arm he'd felt the man tense and then almost immediately relax, the fight having gone out of him. After that Holland had obeyed every order given to him by Simon, he'd allowed Simon free access to his body while he'd cleaned him and Simon hadn't been able to resist indulging himself with a kiss. Holland's mouth had tasted so sweet, his lips so soft and pliant under Simon's, and he'd explored every bit of that delicious mouth, his desire for Holland growing with every exquisite sweep of his tongue. Simon had untied Holland and wordlessly taken him back to the bed, after quickly flipping the mattress he'd laid Holland down on his back and had retied his hands above his head. He was going to take him face to face; he was going to look into Holland's eyes while he pushed himself inside of him. Simon had undressed and the anticipation had already made him hard. He'd decided on no lubrication, some pain would reinforce Holland's position, ensure he didn't forget who was in charge, who owned him. Holland had allowed him to push his legs apart and Simon had settled in between them, kneeling he'd pulled Holland's backside up from the mattress positioning him partly on his lap with his legs on either side of Simon's hips. Simon had leant his weight forward, his arms braced on either side of Holland's shoulders he'd looked straight into Holland's eyes as he'd slowly pushed his erection into Holland's ass. Slowly, inch by inch he'd forced his way inside, he'd felt Holland's body stiffen with the pain, he'd seen his facial expression tighten as he finally fully sheathed himself completely inside of that tight heat. However, what Simon didn't see was the fear, the loathing, the humiliation, the defeat in Holland's eyes. In fact he didn't see anything in those eyes, eyes that Simon had delighted in because of their open expression were now shuttered and blank. Simon had been determined to get a reaction from Holland, and so had set a punishing pace, thrusting into him quickly and hard, but all to no avail. Holland's expression had remained blank. Oh he'd flinched and grimaced when Simon hurt him, when he tore into him with his penis, when he'd leaned down and bitten into the soft, warm skin on his shoulder, Simon's teeth breaking the skin, drawing blood. However, Simon knew that those were merely physical reactions and he wanted something deeper than that, he wanted a mental connection with Holland, he wanted to be able to see the submission, the defeat in his eyes, not this featureless, blank stare. When Simon had cum he'd collapsed forward on top of Holland and again he hadn't moved and Simon found he missed that delicious squirming of Holland's body under him when he'd tried to escape from Simon's touch. Simon had angrily gotten up and left the room, not speaking to Holland and certainly not allowing him the promised soup. Simon decided that if Holland was determined to ruin his fun then he could just go hungry for the rest of his miserable life. He'd smirked at that thought, that wasn't going to be too much longer after all.

Unfortunately Simon hadn't been able to go back to see Holland for the rest of that day. He'd had lots of things to see to, arrangements to be made, and preparations that required his attention. His time here in California would be over soon and he needed to make arrangements to move on, as well as the arrangements for Holland's last day. So here he was on day six, the last day he really got to play with Holland and he was determined to make the most of it, after all this would be the last few times that he would get to take that delicious body. Simon was also going to make sure that Holland reacted to him properly, no more hiding away in his head for him, Simon was going to make him come out to play, come out to face his demons.

Simon was naked when he entered the room; he'd spent the night before hardly sleeping thinking about what he was going to do today. He had a bottle of water for Holland and a bag with some odds and ends he might need. He saw that Holland was already awake, staring impassively up at the ceiling, unmoving. Simon walked over to the bed and untied Holland's hands, he was quite sure that even without his present defeated attitude Holland was no longer a threat to him physically. The maltreatment he'd experienced combined with the lack of food and adequate liquid intake had all taken their toll on Holland physically. Simon had been speaking the truth yesterday when he'd told Holland that he'd lost weight over the past few days, and Simon had also noticed that Holland was increasingly unsteady on his feet when he walked. Simon wasn't sure that Holland would even make it out of the building under his own steam if he left all the doors unlocked and wide-open. After he'd untied him Simon ordered Holland to sit up, which he had done, all be it slowly, then he'd wordlessly handed him the opened water bottle and stood watching as Holland had drunk it down. When he'd finished Simon had said,

"Get up!" 

Again Holland quietly obeyed and Simon decided to see how far this show of obedience really went.

"Walk over to the table, bend over it and open your legs." He told the still man in front of him.

There was only a slight hesitation on Holland's part before he shuffled his way over to the table, and then he paused, not moving. Simon smiled to himself, so not all of the old Holland was gone. He walked over to the table and prepared to play. Grabbing Holland's hair in one hand and his arm in the other he shoved Holland down over the table hard, Holland's head smacking into the table top with an audible thump. Simon slid the hand he had on Holland's arm down until it grasped onto Holland's left wrist, and then he repeated the process on the other side. When he had hold of both of Holland's wrists, his arms pulled out straight behind his back and his body pinned to the table top, Simon leaned forward rubbing his erection against Holland's buttocks and whispered,

"Don't think you can hide from me, don't think you can escape into your head and get away from me. I own you, I want you, I love you and you'll stay with me forever, and there is no escape. Do you understand that hmm…do you understand that there isn't going to be any rescue, your colleagues have already given up on you? I've been giving them clues you know, in the tapes I've given them clues that even an idiot could follow, but they're not here are they. Do you know why huh? They don't want you back, you disgust them, you're weak and pathetic, they aren't looking for you any more. They've watched you whore yourself to me, they've watched you squirm and moan and cum for me, they know you belong to me now. You realise that don't you Holland, you belong in the dark and the filth because that's what you are, you can't be with them anymore because you'd make them dirty, you'd pollute them and you wouldn't want to do that would you hmm?"

When Holland failed to answer Simon pulled his arms across his back, because he was holding the wrists and they were pulled behind Holland he knew it would feel to Holland as if he was dislocating his shoulders. Holland whimpered in pain and Simon hissed,

"I asked you a question! You wouldn't want to pollute them with your filth would you?"

"N...n…no." Holland stammered.

"Good boy." Simon said letting Holland's arms relax a little, lessening the pain in his shoulders. "Now let me show you my love."

With that he plunged into Holland's body with so much force that he forced himself fully inside in one long, brutal thrust. Holland's body tensed and a pained gasp escaped from him. Simon didn't pause he just began to thrust as hard as he could, he didn't have to worry about causing damage to Holland now, the end was so close that any injuries he inflicted now wouldn't have time to become infected. Simon still held onto Holland's wrists and every time he pulled his hips back he also pulled back on them knowing he was causing agonizing pain to shoot across Holland's shoulders and chest. With every lunge into Holland's ass Simon made sure he was as brutal as possible, he made sure he did as much internal damage as possible. He could feel Holland's blood, hot and wet lubricating his way, and glancing down he could see it trickling down the insides of Holland's thighs. Simon could feel sweat running down his forehead as he kept up the punishing pace, he could hear Holland's pain filled gasps and sobs, his own grunts of pleasure. As he felt his climax building he let go of Holland's wrists and thrust into him as deeply as he could, his hands grasping Holland's hips. As he felt his cum shooting into Holland's bowels he pulled his hands into fists, gouging trails in the already bruised flesh of Holland's hips. Simon slumped forward onto Holland's back, the wordless, intense sex having drained him momentarily. He lay there feeling the trembling body under him gradually still, the sobs slowly subside and then he heard one single muffled word,

"Why." 

Simon smiled to himself and stood up wondering what had taken Holland so long to ask the question.


	19. Night Chapter 19

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Night – Chapter 19.

He had to know why. It struck Dutch that his question was a little like the old movie cliché when the hero is facing death and buys some time by asking the villain to explain his plans, of course the daring escape or rescue would be missing from this scenario, but he really did want to know why before he died. He had the feeling that just like the baddies in those films Simon wouldn't be able to resist the sound of his own voice as he explained his warped thinking. Oh Dutch understood the psychology of someone like Simon, a psychopath with no empathy for those around him intent only on his own gratification, but why him, why policemen that's what he wanted to know? So he'd simply asked after Simon's latest attentions,

"Why?"

Simon reached forward a hand gripping his shoulder and pulled him upright, turning him around and pushing him back against the table, it's edge cutting uncomfortably into his lower back, just one more pain to join the rest. Dutch almost welcomed the physical pain now as it sublimated the emotional pain which he could feel constantly eating away at his psyche. He felt he could reach out and grasp his physical pain, touch it and watch while it would eventually fade away and disappear. However, he knew the psychological pain was different after all he'd spent years with his demons locked away deep inside of himself, but they'd always been there never fading just repressed, snarling and howling for release.

Simon pressed forward into his personal space, his pelvis pushed against Dutch's, his hands on either side of his body gripping the table imprisoning him and his face just inches from his, eyes staring, a smile on his lips.

"What took you so long? The others asked that long before now and I took you for an inquisitive detective with a thirst for knowledge, for the truth." Simon said.

"Tell me…I want to know…to understand. Why policemen…why choose me?" Dutch asked, trying but failing to hold Simon's gaze. Those cold almost inhuman eyes made him shudder and he couldn't prevent himself from looking away, even though he knew Simon would see his reluctance to maintain eye contact as a victory.

"Why policemen…because I was set up, framed and spent 10 years of my life locked up in a cell because some dirty cop planted evidence in my car. The bastard planted hairs from this dead kid in my trunk and then leaned on that idiot Newman to get him to implicate me in the kid's death. That was back in 1986, I got life with no chance of parole, and I had to spend the next ten years in prison until they caught him out doing the same thing in another case. Ten fucking years wasted then they give me a pardon and a shit load of cash and expect me to what, forgive and forget…just fuck off and get on with life…no way."

"You were innocent and this is what…your way of getting back at the police." Dutch asked.

"Innocent…Jesus you really aren't as clever as I thought you were boy. I was guilty as sin…yeah I killed the little shit, fucked him and strangled him, but I didn't leave any evidence. No that shit for brains cop had to plant some because he couldn't find any…because I was smarter than that, smarter than them. The only way they could pin it on me was to cheat…made it look like I was just some dumb fuck who couldn't clean up after himself properly. Well they don't think that now do they. Christ, I even leave them clues and they're still too stupid to catch me. Do you know the feds even know who I am? They went back to Hamilton and asked a lot of questions about me and they still can't catch me, they still can't save you. See I'm smarter than them, superior, and so it's only right I can have what I want, who I want." Simon told Dutch.

Dutch tried to digest all that Simon had told him. If it was true that the FBI knew Simon's identity then why hadn't they caught up with him by now? Maybe Simon had been right, maybe they had given up on him. Here he was thinking there was some big search underway for him and instead everyone was just getting on with their lives, and he was fading from memory. The lack of emotion this thought elicited in him didn't surprise him; he was tired and felt as though he was merely marking time now until this whole mess was over. He almost didn't ask his next question, not sure if he really wanted to hear Simon's answer, not sure he'd want to see the reflection of himself the answer might provide. However, he'd gone this far and so taking a breath he asked,

"Why me…why did you pick me? What…what was it you saw in me that made you choose me?"

Simon stepped back from Dutch which surprised him and he looked up at Simon's face, startled to see something that almost resembled pity there.

"I've told you before I didn't choose you, you chose me."

Genuinely confused Dutch shook his head,

"I don't understand?" 

"The moment I saw you I knew you were the one. Everything about you called out to me I could sense your need, your insecurity, wanting to belong somewhere, to someone. There's something about you, about all of the ones I've chosen, a vulnerability that calls out to people. It makes people react to you in one of two ways either they want to look out for you, like your partner Claudette, or else they're like me and want to take that vulnerability and use it, enjoy it, make you cry. You were made for this, for me, that's why you belong to me, you always have."

Dutch could see from his expression that Simon was totally sincere, he completely believed every word he'd just said and he realised that he did as well. Of course Simon was right that explained everything, his entire life he'd been walking around with "victim" emblazoned across his forehead, he couldn't see it but everyone else could. His father, Lucy, the friend who'd been Lucy's sponsor at AA and had ended up getting her pregnant and taking her away from him, Sean Sally's killer had seen it that day in the interrogation room and Simon had seen it. Perhaps his whole life had been leading up to this point fate made it inescapable. Why try and fight it, why try and hide from it? It was better surely to accept it, embrace it even. At the very least it would be easier.

"You're going to finish it tomorrow?" Dutch heard himself asking Simon; a little proud of the fact that his voice remained steady when he asked the question.

Simon was watching him carefully when he replied,

"Yes…it'll be your time."

Dutch actually felt relief flood through him at Simon's words, his eyes sliding shut. It was going to end, it was going to be over and he knew he was glad. Feeling Simon's gaze on him Dutch opened his eyes and looked back at him, not flinching when Simon reached out and cupped his cheek in his hand.

"Now you see it don't you…now you realise I'm right…now you know you belong to me. We can be together one last time and the choice is yours, either I can bend you over the table again like last time and hurt you or you can lie down on the bed with me and I'll be gentle, prepare you, use lubrication the choice is yours?"

Dutch knew he should refuse to chose or be defiant and opt for the table, validate himself with the pain but he couldn't. He knew that in the long run it didn't matter anymore so why be a masochist, why chose pain when he didn't have to. So he silently turned away from Simon and slowly walked over to the bed aware of Simon following him.


	20. Night Chapter 20

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Night - Chapter 20.

Claudette was barely suppressing the waves of panic, which were rising up within herself. Time was running out they knew that Simon intended to kill Dutch on day seven. The tape from the fifth day of Dutch's ordeal had at least finally given them the clue that had narrowed down the search parameters. It had come at the end of the tape, a tape that had confirmed Claudette's fear that Dutch was beginning to give up. The damage caused to his delicate psyche and self-esteem with the news that Simon had been sending her tapes of his ordeal seemed to be irreparable. There had been a complete lack of reaction from Dutch as Simon had washed him and kissed him, an act that was even more intimate than the rapes because it usually signified a depth of love and tenderness instead of the need for power and control which the rapes represented. Then when Simon had tied him unresisting to the bed and raped him again Dutch's face had been strangely blank, totally devoid of any emotion; it was as if he wasn't there any more. Then that clue, a picture of the Canadian flag. As they scanned the maps it had all fallen into place. The theory, which offered the area of the NASA Jet Propulsion Laboratory as the area where Simon had Dutch imprisoned, was confirmed. The Canadian flag had to be referring to the area around the Pasadena-LA Canada Flintridge City boundaries. The name of the Devil's Gate Reservoir had leapt out at them with the realization that the three-headed dog Cerberus had guarded the entrance to Hades, or the Devil's Gate. Even the obscure glass of half-melted ice cubes that had been foxing everyone who'd tried to explain it became clear when Agent Ryde spotted the name Coldwater Canyon. After all what was ice water if not cold water? Still this was a large rural area, some of it heavily wooded, and it was still like looking for a needle in a haystack. The only clue they'd had left then was the lightening, and no amount of desperate map reading had yielded any answers.

It was nearly dawn on day seven, the final day; the sky had streaks of pink and orange stretching out from the eastern horizon. Claudette was standing in the car park she had had to get out of the building, escape the air of hopelessness that pervaded the atmosphere of The Barn. Also she had had to escape all the pitying stares which were being increasingly shot in her direction. She hated that pity and the thought that those people had already given up on Dutch, they had written him off as a lost cause. Well she'd be damned if she would give up on him even if, as she feared, he had given up on himself. 

The tape that she had watched with the others only a few hours ago had confirmed this assessment of his mental wellbeing for her. Another brutal rape had followed Simon's mind games. As he had told Dutch that they wouldn't want him back because he would disgust them, he would pollute them Claudette had felt sick to her stomach. The tears that had welled in her eyes had spilled down her cheeks when she heard Dutch's broken, desolate voice agreeing with him. She had bowed her head as she had listened to Simon's warped reasoning, his excuses for what he'd done and why. She had looked up sharply when she heard Simon telling Dutch that it was his fault he'd chosen him. Claudette had angrily swiped away the tears from earlier when she realised Simon was twisting Dutch's thinking, making him believe it was all his fault, that he'd given off some kind of signals which had attracted Simon to him. The frightening thing was that Dutch seemed to completely accept this version of events. Claudette was worried that if Dutch felt this was somehow his destiny then he wouldn't fight anymore, he wouldn't fight to survive. When he had meekly walked to the bed then and lain unresponsive but completely submissive while Simon had raped him again, all the while cooing at Dutch in a sick parody of lovemaking, Claudette felt her assessment of Dutch had been confirmed. She shuddered as a cool breeze blew over her and she wearily leaned back against the wall behind her closing her eyes for a moment. She felt a little foolish but she reached out with her mind and tried to will her thoughts to Dutch where ever he was. She wanted him to know that they hadn't given up on him, not for one moment. She wanted him to know that they wanted him back and that they were close, so close that he just had to hang on for a little while longer. Most of all she wanted him to know that she hadn't given up on him and no matter what that she never would.

Claudette was jolted out of her thoughts when Vic burst out of the door with a huge grin on his face,

"We've got the bastard Claudette, we know where he is!"

Claudette thought her heart was going to burst out of her chest, her head spun for a moment. At last the words she'd waited all week to hear. Unable to contain her excitement she rushed forward towards Vic,

"Where…how…are you sure?" The questions spilling out of her mouth one after the other.

Vic held the door open for her as she brushed past him waiting impatiently for his reply. He walked with her back towards the squad room, talking rapidly as they went,

"The goddamn feds finally came through. Those guys they've got going through Collins' dodgey finances found something. The sick fucker had an account set up in the name Geoffrey Massara."

"The boy he helped murder back in '86?" Claudette asked.

"Yep. Anyway that flags up for the feds so they dig a little deeper, seems money from this account was paid out to a property-letting agent in Pasadena. So they contact this guy and he says that sure Mr. Massara was letting a place for a few months. Says he's a rich businessman from New York wanting some downtime to get back to nature. This guy sees this Mr. Massara taking a load of electrical equipment into this place, computers and stuff and just supposes its so he can keep in contact with his business back east. Anyway they show him a photo of Collins and he says yes that Mr. Massara. Shit we've fucking got him." Vic could barely contain his delight.

As they passed into the squad room it seemed to Claudette to be a different building to the one she had slunk out of an hour earlier. Suddenly the air was full of optimism, a bustle of purposeful activity as people hurried to organize the long awaited and prayed for rescue of their colleague and friend.

Unable to keep the grin from her own face Claudette reached out and grabbed hold of Vic's arm stopping him for a second,

"But where, where is he?"

"At an old timber mill about five miles from the Devil's Gate Reservoir. Remember the lightening and that picture of a kite from yesterday's tape? Well it's the Franklin Mill, as in Benjamin Franklin. This bastard thinks he's so fucking clever…well he's in for a Farmington surprise visit!" Vic crowed.

Claudette rushed after him into the melee of frantic activity that surrounded them. Now they had to ensure that they were in the thick of things. If the FBI thought they were going to be running the show they were in for a surprise. Claudette was determined to be at the forefront of the rescue, beside her she was sure that Vic was equally determined that the Strike Team were going to amongst the first through the door too. As she headed towards Agents Young and Alvarez she sent a silent plea out to Dutch,

"Just hold on a little longer son…just hold on and fight I'm coming."


	21. Night Chapter 21

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Night – Chapter 21.

The sky was still streaked with the colours of dawn and the sun had barely crept into the sky when Dutch heard the door to the room open. He sighed quietly and prepared himself, today was the day he was destined to die and he was determined to meet his end with as much equanimity as he could muster.

"Time to get ready." Simon said.

Dutch turned towards him and was surprised to see he was holding one of his suits in his arms. At Dutch's questioning look Simon told him,

"I always bring a set of work clothes to be worn for the occasion. Of course it's usually a uniform but in your case it had to be a suit and I always liked you in this one."

Dutch thought that this was probably the most surreal moment of his entire life. Simon was talking about "…the occasion…" as if he was discussing a party or something not his execution. The dark blue suit Simon held did happen to be one of Dutch's favourites too, but now he knew Simon liked it he found he rather despised it. Then he mentally chided himself, what was he thinking, as if it mattered what suit he was going to be wearing. Jesus he was loosing his mind, the sooner this was finished with the better. 

As Simon came forward, and after placing the suit at the end of the bed, began to untie him, Dutch had to satisfy his curiosity on one point,

"How…how are you going to do it. I…um…I know it's always different, and I was…ah…wondering well… you know?" 

He winced slightly as he tripped over his own tongue as he asked Simon to tell him how he was going to die. He was supposed to be being cool and collected, not stuttering and stammering like an idiot.

"Oh you'll see soon enough. Don't worry it'll be…it'll be over quickly I promise." Simon smiled reassuringly at him as he said it, and Dutch shuddered.

Sitting up he reached over and pulled his clothes towards him. Not only the suit he noted but a shirt and tie and even underwear. He lightly caressed the material with his hand it would feel good to have some clothes on again, perhaps a little of his dignity would be put back with each item of clothing.

*

Simon watched Holland as he gazed at the clothes on the bed, and slowly, almost reverently ran his hands over each item. He would be sorry when this was over he had been really enjoying his time here with Holland. It would be a shame to have to leave it all behind and move on; he wasn't sure where he was going yet. Perhaps Seattle or down to Mexico for a little break, let things cool off a little now that he knew the FBI was onto him even Simon realised it would only be a matter of time before they caught up with him.

Turning his attention back to Holland Simon saw that he was having some difficulty dressing himself. His fingers were still red and swollen from the punishment that Simon had been forced to inflict on him for his bad behaviour, and he was finding it difficult to manipulate the clothes as he tried to put them on. He'd managed to pull on his underwear and the shirt but there was no way he'd be able to do up the buttons by himself, so Simon stepped forward to help. Holland passively allowed Simon to take over and sat still and quiet as he dressed him. While he did up the buttons on Holland's shirt Simon noticed a slight tremble which was present in Holland's body. A brush against his chest while bringing the two sides of the shirt together to be done up also told Simon that Holland was rather hot. A surreptitious glance at his face, which was calm with his eyes closed, confirmed Simon's suspicion that Holland had a slight fever. Well there was no need to be sentimental now; it was a good thing that this was day seven. If he was going to be like Peter and get ill then, just like Peter before him, he would be no fun whatsoever for Simon. Besides he would be doing Holland a favour too, better to put him out of his misery quickly before he suffered too much then let him linger on like Peter had. Thinking back Simon remembered that Peter had been in such a state at the end that he'd been barely able to kneel on the ground in front of Simon. When Simon had pulled the trigger sending a bullet into Peter's brain he thought it had been like putting down a sick dog.

Wanting to get on Simon quickly and efficiently got Holland dressed. Holland himself passively obeyed Simon's instructions of when to stand up and sit down, when to put his arm into the armhole of his jacket, when to lift his feet as Simon put his shoes and socks on. When he'd finally finished and stood up Simon could see a slight smile on Holland's face, he quirked an eyebrow at the sight and hoped that Holland would be this cooperative in a few minutes time. Taking Holland's handcuffs from his back pocket Simon said,

"Alright stand up and walk forward for four steps, and then put your hands behind your back."

*

As Simon dressed him Dutch tried his best to ignore him. He let his mind drift not really thinking of anything, noting that he felt a little light headed. Of course he hadn't eaten since he'd been brought here and although he'd been given water it hadn't been enough and he was dehydrated so it was no wonder he was a little woozy. The inner calm that had seemed to settle over him was still evident except for one tiny nagging worry that seemed to be growing inside his head. How was he going to die? Dutch knew from the reports he'd seen on the other murders that the method of execution was always different. Simon had promised him it would be quick; but then again Simon was a deranged serial killer so Dutch reasoned he probably wasn't the most reliable of people. God, what if it was something really bad, like fire or hanging, except no it couldn't be hanging since Dutch was pretty sure Simon had used that one already. Just as he was sure he'd used a shot to the back of the head before, damn at least that would be quick and painless. Oops there was that surreal feeling again here he was calmly comparing the various ways he could be killed and trying to pick a favourite.

Then he felt it he was dressed. At last he had clothes on he was human again, Dutch felt himself smile. He couldn't help it; it just felt so good maybe he did have a little bit of dignity left after all? At Simon's order to stand up and walk forward Dutch did as he was told, remembering the harsh lesson he'd learnt the last time he had thought he could snatch back some of his dignity and self-respect. His fingers still throbbed in time with each beat of his heart to constantly remind him what would happen if he disobeyed, if he fought back. So he quickly smothered the spark of defiance that he had felt within himself and put his hands behind his back and stood still while Simon handcuffed him. Dutch watched Simon move around to stand beside him and take his right elbow in his hand,

"Just walk with me, and I'm sure I don't have to tell you to be good? This is for the best you know that, it's the way it should be. You understand that don't you?" Simon asked him, gazing earnestly into Dutch's face.

Dutch just nodded. He was busy trying to suppress that nagging fear within himself that was rapidly growing and threatening to ruin his promise to himself that he would met his end with quiet acceptance.

"Good…come on then." Simon said, gently pulling on his arm and steering him to the door. Dutch hadn't noticed before that Simon had left it open. He felt a pang of regret; maybe he should have tried to escape before Simon had cuffed him. As he stumbled slightly as they passed through the doorway Dutch knew that in his weakened condition he wouldn't have made it twenty feet before Simon would have caught him, and then Simon would have been really mad at him. The though of Simon's wrath made Holland shiver. As they walked down the corridor Dutch let his mind turn to Claudette. He wondered what she was doing right now? Was she at home or at the Barn, did she have a new partner yet? No he couldn't imagine she would forget him so quickly, surely she still thought of him. He remembered how hard he had prayed for her to find him during those first few days. How much he had wanted to believe that she would lead a rescue party into that room at any moment. Then he remembered how crushed he had felt when Simon had told him about the tapes. Yes, he decided this was better for everyone. He wouldn't have to face anyone from his past life and they wouldn't have to face him. Simon was right he was filthy now and was sure to contaminate anything or anyone he came into contact with. All that Simon had done to him, all that he had let Simon do, all that he'd become was buried so deeply into the core of his being that it could never be removed. The dark shame of it was ingrained into his soul, poisoning it. It was better for him to be removed from the world before he could spoil anything clean with his very touch.

Dutch had been so deep in thought that he was surprised when Simon said,

"We're here."

Dutch had to blink a few times to clear his eyes as they blurred slightly for a moment. When he saw what the room contained he realised how he was to die. The room was empty except for a large, old-fashioned, cast-iron bathtub. It stood in the middle of the room on four iron feet in the shape of lion's paws. It was the sort of thing that interior designers looked for to add character to a renovated bathroom. It was also full of clear water; a yellow hosepipe snaked across the floor from a tap that was placed against the wall.

"I had a dream of your face looking up at me through water." Simon told him by way of explanation.

Dutch didn't quite know what to say; he didn't know what Simon expected him to say in reply. So he just stood there staring at the tub of water, not sure how he felt about drowning. As Simon walked him over to the tub a little voice began screaming in his head for him to fight. This was real; he was going to die. Simon was going to hold him under the water until he was dead. He would drown, suffocate with his lungs full of water instead of air. Dutch could feel panic beginning to well up inside him and he could feel himself beginning to pull back, trying to dig his heels in and prevent his inexorable forward progress. He felt Simon's fingers digging painfully into his arm as he dragged him forward,

"Don't be silly, you know this is what has to happen. I really thought you were going to be sensible Holland, don't make me lose my temper." Simon threatened.

"I…I don't want to drown…I don't want to die now." Dutch said beginning to struggle in earnest now.

He had thought he'd come to terms with this, he had thought he was ready. Just a couple of minutes ago he had thought that this was the right thing, but that was before he'd entered this room and saw his end before him in that cold, clear water.

"Don't make it harder than it has to be." Simon hissed at him.

The grip Simon had on his arm tightened even more and he brought his other hand up to grip the back of Dutch's neck. Now Simon was half dragging him, half pushing him towards the bath.

"No…no don't." Dutch gasped out, as he tried to fight Simon.

"You little coward!" Simon spat in anger.

Dutch was afraid but he had a sudden epiphany where he realised that he'd been a coward for wanting to die. He had been a coward for not wanting to face people, for not wanting to face the rest of his life. Now he had to fight, he had to at least try, not go to his death like a lamb to the slaughter. What if Simon was taping this, what if Claudette saw this? Dutch suddenly felt that it was vitally important to try, for Claudette to see he'd tried to live. He couldn't bare the thought that she'd think he'd just given up, because he suddenly became convinced that no matter what Simon said that Claudette wouldn't have given up on him. He also knew that she wouldn't give up until there was no hope left, ashamed of himself he thought the least he could do was the same.

Of course it was useless. He was too weak and Simon was too strong, all it did was delay the inevitable for a couple of moments. A few minutes more of life before he was overwhelmed. As Simon tipped him over backward into the frigid water the cold of it made him gasp in a lungful of air, his throat momentarily closing up in shock. Overbalanced with his hands restrained behind him Dutch had no way of stopping Simon from pushing him into the tub. His whole body was submerged, he screwed his eyes shut and tried to hold onto the shocked lungful of air he had. Simon had his shoulders hold pushing him down, then suddenly he pulled him back up to the surface. Dutch spluttered gasping for breath as he broke the surface. Simon leaned down towards him and Dutch opened his eyes when he felt his warm breath on his cold, wet face.

"Now it's the end of this part, but don't worry you'll be with me for ever now just like the others. I own your soul now." Simon smiled at him and Dutch dragged in what he knew would be his last breath before Simon pushed him down under the water again.

*

Simon was ecstatic the adrenaline rush was intense as he pushed Holland under the water. This was power, to hold someone's life in your hands, to be able to snuff it out it was better then anything. It felt better then sex; no orgasm could ever feel this intense, this exciting, this good. Holland had fought at the end and Simon wasn't completely surprised he had suspected that he had some hidden reserve of defiance that could surface at any time. Besides Simon had to admit a little fight only heightened the experience for him, made it more fun. He looked down into the water and his dream came back to him as he saw Holland's face staring up at him, eyes wide and terrified as he fought the urge to breathe when there was no air. Simon smiled down at him and pushed a little harder.

*

Dutch could hear the blood rushing in his ears as every cell in his body screamed out for oxygen. His lungs felt as if they were about to burst inside his chest and his brain was urgently instructing him to open his mouth and breathe. As he looked up through the water he could see a distorted image of Simon's face smiling down at him. Desperately he began to kick his legs trying to get some kind of purchase with which to haul himself out of the water into the air, but his feet slid uselessly against the smooth, metal sides of the tub. He tried to twist and turn, trying to break Simon's grip on him, but in was useless Simon was too strong and he was weakening. Dutch had a roaring sensation in his head, his vision greying at the edges. Then it happened, he couldn't fight it anymore, he didn't have the strength left. So he gave in and did what his brain was screaming at him to do, he opened his mouth and breathed in as deeply as he could. He convulsed as he felt the water rushing down into his oxygen-starved lungs. His throat spasmed as it tried to expel the liquid, his body trying to preserve his life, but it was useless. Still his body strained for oxygen that wasn't there, that lungs now full of water wouldn't have been able to process even if it was. Dutch saw Simon's face smiling down at him still as the darkness rushed forward and consumed him.

*

Simon watched as Holland tried desperately to break free knowing that all the struggling was doing was to use up what little oxygen he had left faster. Then he knew the moment was here. As he watched Holland went still and he opened his mouth and drew in a lungful of water. The struggle for life was fleeting after that, as his movements weakened and finally stopped. Simon let go of Holland and straightened up, his gaze never leaving the empty eyes that stared up at him through the water.


	22. Night Chapter 22

Disclaimer: - I don't own any of the characters of The Shield, they all belong to Shawn Ryan and FX.

Night – Chapter 22.

Claudette felt as though every sense in her body was on overload. The adrenaline in her system had built up to such levels in the, seemingly, interminable wait for the signal to go that her hand had trembled as she'd checked her gun for the third time in as many minutes. The drive out to the Franklin Mill had taken forty-five minutes, and then they'd had to wait at the mill's padlocked gates until the bolt cutters had been brought forward and until the different agencies involved had established an operational hierarchy. The FBI was in overall control with a SWAT team in attendance. Agent's Young and Alvarez had been reluctant to allow any of Dutch's colleague's from Farmington to be involved in his rescue. They'd spouted on about a conflict of interests and personal involvement not being advisable in a situation like this; emotions could become over-heated and get in the way. Claudette had been incandescent with anger at their attitude, and Aceveda had had to order her out of his office to calm down while he'd somehow sweet-talked them into allowing at least her, Vic and himself to accompany them. He'd used some bullshit about inter-agency cooperation to swing it, but Claudette didn't care how he'd done it just that she was here.

"You ok?" Vic asked as he leaned in close to her, dropping his voice so no one else could hear.

"Yeah…yeah fine I just wish we could get on with this. Christ don't they know Dutch is on borrowed time here!" Claudette replied the frustration plain in her voice.

Before Vic could reply a member of the SWAT team stepped forward and sliced through the chain securing the iron gates to the mill. As one the contingent of feds and police moved forward as quickly as they could.

They entered the main doors of the mill and moved forward down the long corridor before them carefully checking the rooms that were situated on either side of the passageway. Each room was disappointingly empty until they'd made their way a third of the way along. Then they pushed the door open to find themselves confronted with the room they'd seen on the six tapes that Simon had sent them. It was all there, the table, the bed complete with blood stains, but Claudette's heart sank as there was no sign of Dutch the fear that they were too late growing within her. As they turned away from the doorway they heard it, a sound of splashing water from up ahead. At the end of the corridor there was a wooden door standing partial ajar and it was from here that the noise could be heard. It sounded like water was being splashed onto a wooden floor and then suddenly the noise stopped, at that moment Claudette knew something bad had happened and that they needed to get to that room as quickly as possible. She glanced at Vic and saw the same realization on his face, and they weren't alone, as one the law enforcement agents in the corridor began to silently approach the now quiet room.

As the door was pushed open there was no mistaking the figure standing with his back to them staring down into an old-fashioned cast-iron bathtub. It was Agent Young's voice that rang out, disturbing the hush that blanketed the room,

"Freeze! Put your hands on your head and turn around slowly!"

Claudette was frozen for a moment as Simon turned towards them, his hands on his head and a self-satisfied smirk on his face. To finally be face to face with the animal who had come to symbolize complete evil for her was a shock. However, as she took in his appearance, his wet clothes, his face flushed with pleasure, and then as she looked at the water which was pooled on the floor around the tub an awful realization came to her. She looked into Simon's face and his smile widened as he said,

"Your too late Claudette. He's mine now."

It was Vic, who moved forward first,

"What the fuck…."

He fell silent as he reached Simon and could see into the tub,

"You bastard…didn't you do enough to him!" Vic exploded.

He grabbed Simon by the throat propelling him backwards into the wall, seemingly intent in choking the life out of him. The FBI agents exploded into action at the prospect of having their suspect snuffed out in front of them, and they moved forward to pull Vic off Simon who was rapidly turning an unhealthy shade of puce. 

Claudette ignored all of that and walked to the tub, her whole existence narrowing down to that point, blotting out the noise and commotion going on around her. She looked down and felt a moment's light-headedness as she found herself staring down into Dutch's still open eyes as they gazed up at her through the cold water. For a second she felt herself consumed with failure, Simon was right she'd been too late if only they'd got there ten minutes earlier it could have been different. Then she felt angry with herself, what the hell was she doing standing here giving up! She'd held onto hope for the past week and she wasn't going to let that hope go now. Quickly holstering her gun she reached down into the water and grabbing Dutch by the shoulders she began to heave him out from underneath the freezing liquid. His waterlogged body was far too heavy for her and she turned and called out,

"Help me get him out!"

There was a moments pause before Vic and Aceveda both pulled themselves away from the group around a now handcuffed and recovering Simon to join her in hauling Dutch out of the tub. As they laid him on the floor they saw that his hands were cuffed behind his back,

"Bastard," Vic muttered glancing a look of pure poison in Simon's direction, "I should have snapped his fucking neck when I had the chance."

"Forget him!" Claudette told him. "Turn Dutch on his side and pass me your keys so I can get these off him."

As they turned him onto his side clear water ran out his nose and mouth in a steady stream. Aceveda put two fingers to Dutch's throat, pressing down trying to find a pulse he knew wasn't going to be present. His mouth tightened into a thin line as he pulled his hand away and reached up closing Dutch's eyes. As Claudette and Vic pushed Dutch over onto his back he reached out and grasped Claudette's arm,

"I'm sorry Claudette…"

She didn't let him finish, 

"No!" She angrily countered. "We have to try, we can't give up on him now!"

With that she reached out and tilted Dutch's head back opening his mouth and pinching his nose shut. Then as she'd been trained to do during those first aid courses she'd had all those years ago at the police academy she blew two quick rescue breaths into Dutch's mouth. Pausing only to place her fingers against his neck to check for herself for a pulse she began the rhythm of fifteen compressions to two breaths.

From across the room Simon looked on and laughed calling out,

"I told you you're too late Claudette. He belongs to me now forever, I own his soul just like the others"

Pausing for a second Claudette glared up at him her voice full of steel determination,

"Oh no you're not having him, I won't let you."

Then she turned her back on him and continued with the CPR.

"Christ get him out of here and get the paramedics in here." Aceveda told the FBI agents who pulled Simon from the room while his laughter echoed behind him.

Claudette, sweat gathering on her forehead, looked at Vic, as she was about to bend forward and breathe for Dutch again,

"Help me, help Dutch."

He nodded and when she'd finished with the breaths he took over the chest compressions. Soon they had a smooth rhythm established, but so far with no result. As Vic counted his compressions,

"…eight…nine…ten…"

Claudette leaned down to Dutch's ear,

"Come on Dutch breathe…don't let that sick bastard win…come back, I know you can do it."

It took another four breaths and thirty chest compressions before Dutch obliged her. Claudette felt a tremble go through Dutch's body and glancing sharply at Vic she knew he felt it to. She leaned forward and blew into his mouth, paused and then did it again. As her mouth left his Dutch suddenly convulsed and choked. Claudette felt her heart soar as she and Vic rolled him over onto his side and he vomited up copious amounts of water. When they laid him onto his back again he was definitely breathing, all be it shallowly but he was breathing, a trembling finger pressed into his throat also found a sluggish heartbeat.

A commotion at the doorway signaled the arrival of the paramedics who had been on stand by out at the old mill's main gates. Immediately taking over the first paramedic who's name badge read Alba looked up at Claudette from where he knelt next to Dutch,

"There's a history here of deliberate injury and sexual assault, is that right?" He asked.

"Yes, and he'd been in the water when we arrived. He wasn't breathing and we couldn't find a pulse so we carried out CPR and got him back." She told him.

Nodding he asked,

"Do you know how long he was down…how long was he not breathing?"

"I'm not sure…five…ten minutes maybe." Claudette told him.

"Ok what's his name?"

"Dutch," at the paramedics slightly skeptical lift of an eyebrow she clarified by telling him, "Everyone calls him Dutch."

He turned his attention back to Dutch, leaning over him he spoke loudly,

"Dutch, Dutch can you hear me…can you open your eyes? Dutch we're here to help you but we need you to try and open your eyes for us!"

As he spoke to Dutch the second paramedic had cut away his tie and pulled open his shirt and was using a stethoscope to listen to his chest. Alba reached down and lifted Dutch's left hand wincing slightly at the damage he saw there, but it didn't prevent him from squeezing one of Dutch's fingertips. Dutch's hand moved at the pain that this caused,

"That was good Dutch now can you open your eyes?"

As he spoke he reached up and pushed Dutch's shirt off his left shoulder and pinched his shoulder muscle. This time Dutch moved his arm in a reaction to the pain. Alba looked across at his partner,

"Ok GCS score is 6, E1, V1, M4."

Nodding the other paramedic, whose name was Dageraad, shared his findings with his partner,

"He's bradycardic at 44 beats per minute, signs of cyanosis around his mouth and definite hypoxia with sats at 82%."

"We need to establish an airway and work on that sat level before we move him. Get out the kit and pass me over a blanket."

Alba folded up the blanket and put it under Dutch's head, and then tilted his head back just like Claudette had before she'd began CPR. Then he moved around so that he was kneeling at the top of his head. Glancing over at Dageraad to make sure he was ready he said,

"Pass me the laryngoscope and get a size 9 tube ready."

Dageraad handed over a silver coloured metal device that had a cylindrical handle and a curved head with a light on the end. Holding it in his left hand Alba eased it into Dutch's open mouth hunching forward over him so that he could look down along the device,

"Ok I can see the cords," He said as he held out his right hand for the tube which Dageraad had ready for him.

Alba began to gently insert the tube into Dutch's throat only to pause and say,

"I need a little cricoid pressure."

With a nod Dageraad leaned forward and placed two fingers on Dutch's Adam's Apple pressing down gently. Alba carried on inserting the tube until,

"I'm done." He said.

He removed the laryngoscope and pulled a copper coloured wire stylet out from the tube, and depressed the plunger on a syringe which was attached to the outside of the tube.

"Is the ambu bag ready?" He asked.

"Yep, here." Dageraad replied handing over a pale green slightly elongated sphere which was attached to a facemask. 

Alba placed the facemask over Dutch's nose and mouth and began to squeeze the bag every five seconds while his partner used his stethoscope to listen to Dutch's chest in several places. Finally satisfied he sat back on his heels,

"I've got good breath sounds on both sides."

"Good, tape the tube into place and we'll move."

Dageraad used adhesive tape to fix the tube into place on the right side of Dutch's mouth before Alba put the facemask back over his nose and mouth and began to squeeze again. He looked up at Claudette's anxious face and asked her,

"Can we borrow you for a moment detective?"

"Of course what do you need." She answered.

"We could do with an extra pair of hands while we move Dutch out to the ambulance. I need you to keep squeezing this bag for me. It's easy just count…one…two…three…four…five and squeeze, and then repeat ok?"

Taking a steadying breath Claudette nodded and took hold of the bag with one hand, the other holding the facemask in place. Her whole being became concentrated on counting to five and squeezing air into Dutch's lungs.

The two paramedics soon had Dutch strapped onto a backboard and with Claudette walking along beside them counting and squeezing, and Vic and Aceveda bringing up the rear carrying their equipment bags for them, they were soon loading Dutch into their ambulance. Once inside Alba gently laid his hand over Claudette's to stop her squeezing the ambu bag,

"It's alright from here detective," He smiled reassuringly at her.

Letting go of the bag and moving back she watched as the paramedic connected the endotracheal tube to the ambulance's oxygen supply. Behind her she could hear the bags of equipment being quickly stored away and knowing the ambulance was about to leave she realised she didn't want Dutch to have to go on his own,

"Is it ok if I ride along, only he's my partner and I'd like to be with him?" Claudette asked.

Looking undecided for a moment Alba finally nodded and said,

"Just sit down and keep out of the way alright."

"Of course…thank you."

The doors slammed shut and the ambulance began the journey to the hospital accompanied by the wail of its siren. Claudette watched as Dutch was wrapped up in shiny, silver survival blankets and the paramedic concentrated on closely monitoring his patient's condition. She found herself staring at his pale face, half hidden by the mask feeding him oxygen, and she realised that although they'd captured Simon and gotten Dutch back that the war was far from over. This battle had been won but over the next hours and days another battle would be fought, this time just to keep Dutch's body alive as it looked as if he was hovering somewhere in between life and death at the moment. Then Claudette knew that the hardest battle of all would have to be joined, that would be the battle for Dutch's mind, for his soul. After all he'd suffered Claudette knew that he'd never be the same again, but she also knew she would be there to help him regain as much of himself as he could.

THE END. 


End file.
